Life Must Go On
by Tobi Is Still A Girl's Name
Summary: ((RE-UPLOADED)) Arrangements are made and suddenly Raoul and Erik find themselves with the task of raising Gustave. Will the tension and past grudges that hang over the two men destroy everything that Christine held dear? How can life go on? Will it at all?
1. The Beginning of Letting Go

**A/N: Firstly, yes, this is re-uploaded, so any reviews I might have had are bye-bye, please feel free to go back and review as I post, most appreciated! Secondly, picture if Gerard Butler had taken Ben Lewis's place in the Australian production of LND and if you took the movie version of PotO's history! This will make things much easier. **

"So, what are you saying?" Raoul crossed his arms, his face composed into a stony grimace.

Erik sighed, rubbing his left temple, "Look, we both have something to hide from and something the other wants. I can't leave the island for obvious reasons and I have money. You can't go back to Paris because of your outstanding debts and you have Gustav."

"I already agreed to our wager, he's yours." Raoul tried to be nonchalant, but the strain in his voice when he said that was all too clear.

"No, that isn't right. Raoul, you are his . . . well, you've been part of his life for a long time now, and he sees you as his, er, anyway," Erik sighed again, closing his eyes, "I'm offering you a place to stay, to help me look after Gustav."

Raoul blinked slowly, "Then we are at an impasse, neither of us can move an inch."

"It would seem we've hit a wall." Erik nodded, "I'm asking you to do what you feel is right for Gustav. I will not say anything more on the subject to sway you."

Raoul laughed, but it was pained and mirthless, "You honestly can't believe that I _wish_ to step out of my son's life. On the other hand, I'd rather not stay anywhere near you, but I will agree to stay because I know what's best for him."

"Then we've reached an understanding?" Erik leaned forward, pressing his palms into the table, his gaze sharp.

"Yes."

* * *

Gustav stood there, staring up at Erik as he sat at his piano, he looked so small, so helpless, the grief of mourning had truly taken its toll on the child, his eyes red and puffy from crying, the slight trembling in his hands.

"Are you . . . alright, Gustav?" Erik asked gently, speaking to a child was foreign ground for him, so he thought a quiet voice was the best tactic.

He blinked slowly, "Mhm."

"Gustav, there you are, I-" Raoul stopped, "Oh, well, then, I needn't have worried, you're _safe_."

Erik raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, but he said nothing as Gustav turned to Raoul,

"Papa, I wanted to ask . . . um . . . " Gustav looked at Erik, as if unsure of how to address him, then he seemed to give up on that, "If I could go outside for awhile, the leaves are turning color."

"I'm sure that would be alright." Raoul gestured to the door, "Grab your coat."

"Yes, Papa!"

They stood in silence, Erik swirled a patch of dust on the wood of his piano, not looking at Raoul, he knew what expression was on his face, the arrogant triumph exuded from that part of the room.

"So, are you going to tell me your name? Or should I call you Mr. Y?"

Erik looked at him, a little caught off guard, "My name is Erik."

Raoul blinked, the glass of water (Erik had warned him about the consequence of drinking alcohol) stopped at his lips, "That's it?"

"What do you mean?" Erik scowled slightly, "It's my name."

"Well, I just pictured something more grandiose, something more, I don't know, _inspiring?_" the younger man shrugged.

Erik huffed, "It isn't my birth name, just one I acquired years ago."

"'Acquired'? How do you acquire a name?"

"Its very simple, I seem to recall being referred to as 'OG' and 'the Phantom', now I've acquired 'Mr. Y', if a name suits me, I use it."

"And you think 'Erik' suits you?" Raoul grinned a little despite himself, the whole thing was so ridiculous.

"Yes, I do." Erik stood slowly, "Well, this has been a most compelling conversation, but I have a business to run. I'm sure you'll find something to do with your time, housekeeping, perhaps?"

Raoul glared at him, "Very clever, _Erik_."

* * *

Erik would not return until later that night, he looked tired, worn-out even.

"I'd ask where it is you go, but I think I'd rather not know." Raoul didn't look up from his newspaper, Gustav was sitting on the floor at his feet, scribbling on some paper.

"Hm." Erik sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs, rubbing his left temple slowly.

Gustav looked up and crawled over, "Um, Sir?"

It took Erik and Raoul a second to realize who the child was speaking to. Erik looked down at him, unsure what to do,

"Yes?"

"Will you . . . look at my music?" Gustav ducked his head shyly, holding up some sheet music.

Erik blinked slowly, eyes wide and he actually looked at Raoul as if for permission before taking the paper.

"Of course, Gustav." He murmured, licking his lips at the silence that hung in the air. Quelling the dismay of his son speaking to him so formally.

Raoul actually leaned forward in his seat, interested in something _his_ son had written, watching a little anxiously as Erik's eyes skimmed the lines, his lips moving to the different notes.

"It's very good, Gustav," He says finally, breaking the tension, "When it is finished, I'd like you to play for me."

"Alright." Gustav nodded and took the paper back, retreating to Raoul's part of the room to continue scribbling.

The two men stared at each other, both a little surprised by what had just transpired here. Gustav had asked for Erik's approval over something. This sent a shiver through the older man, he sighed contentedly and settled back in his chair.

* * *

Three days later, Raoul sat in the parlor, reading, and looking up every so often with mild interest as Erik moved about the apartment located over the music hall. He'd never seen the man in anything but black dress clothes and a cape, so to see him in a pair of regular trousers and a white shirt with a few of the buttons undone was strange at best.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Erik blinked, looking up from a pile of papers, his visible eyebrow raised sharply, "What difference does it make?"

"I'm a little curious to see how much older Chr- . . . she preferred." Raoul faltered, he was trying to make light their situation, but mentioning her name, accidentally or not, brought on a wave of sadness, bordering on tears.

Erik just stared at him, the expression on his face, however briefly it flashed across his almost completely obscured visage, gave in to concern, then to what might have been amusement, "A bit older, I'm almost forty."

Raoul head snapped up, "Wait, what? I thought you were much older than that, I mean, your hair is-"

"Graying? Yes, I'm aware of that, it started to lose its color when I was very young. Due to trauma or malnutrition, but I'm not sure." Erik crosses his arms, irritation at Raoul's exclamations.

"But . . . that means that you were, what?, twenty-eight, twenty-nine at the Opera house?"

"Yes." Erik nodded slowly.

"Well, then, you're only . . . nine or ten years older than me." Raoul counts off in his head.

"Feel better knowing I'm not a decrepit old man?" Erik snorts, organizing his papers.

"I admit it does make me feel a little better." Raoul smiled to himself.

* * *

Gustav was having another of his dreams. Erik's hand reached out hesitantly to the boy,

"Gustav, wake up." He said softly, the boy's eyes flew open, full of fear and uncertainty, at first Erik thought he should go and get Raoul, but then a small hand snatched at his sleeve.

"Don't go!" He whispered urgently, tears already forming, "Don't leave me!"

Erik blinked, "Alright, I'll stay."

He slid to the floor next to Gustav's bed, sitting up and staring at the hand still clutching his sleeve.

"Don't go . . . " Gustav's eyes were already drooping.

"I'm not going anywhere." Erik whispered, his other hand reaching to smooth down the child's unruly hair,

_So much like Christine_, he thought, _all the better he doesn't have a scrap of me-_

He stopped his thinking because he stared into the eyes, they were such a soft, liquid blue; Christine's were dark, chocolate colored, those were Erik's eyes. He had to catch a sob in his throat, Erik didn't want to upset Gustav further by breaking down here. He waited until the reflection of his eyes were closed in the blessed escape of sleep before brushing his lips on the warm forehead and carefully sliding his sleeve out of the hand. He slowly, carefully backed out of the room and retreated to the study, where he could be alone.

Erik sat at the piano, not even touching the keys as tears rolled off his face, forcing him to remove his mask or risk it falling and shattering. He covered his face with his hands and wept softly, his heart, so carefully guarded all those years, was suddenly raw and vulnerable again as it had been that fateful night on the pier, aching at such a small thing as seeing himself in his son, seeing what he might have been, could have been, if not for his face. Oh, the unfairness of it all . . .

Raoul stood there, watching Erik, he was unsure of what he was supposed to do about this, the older man was sitting there at the piano, crying as if his life was over. It would not do to disturb him and Raoul knew that if that were him, Erik would be the last person on this Earth he would want to see. So he turned and quietly closed the door on the weeping man.

* * *

Like any other morning, before the sun rose, Erik was already awake and dressed, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. He didn't actually like the stuff all that much, but it was hot on a cold day, snow flurries falling softly on the window pane announcing that fall was almost over, and the wind making it's endless complaint through the trees. Raoul came in, startled by Erik's presence before sliding into a chair across from him, a cup for coffee in his own hand.

"Don't you ever sleep?" He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and filling his cup.

"A little." Erik conceded, "I don't find that I need much sleep."

"Huh, lucky you." Raoul yawned and stretched, then he glanced out the window, "Gustav will need a winter coat, it looks bloody cold out there."

"I'll see to it." Erik nodded, glancing out the window too, "Winter here is so bleak. Truly, the snow covers all the imperfections of the city for the briefest of moments before it too is sloshed into a grimy mess and becomes part of the city once again. The moon plays such lovely silver light on everything, making the city soft and kind until the sun rises, casting every line and detail into such sharp relief as to hurt the eyes and force one to look away out of fear of oneself also being exposed, every imperfection of the soul and body laid bare for all to see." Erik rubbed at his forehead.

Raoul blinked, "Are you making a joke at my expense? I say something about the weather and then you have to top me?"

"A joke, sir?" Erik chuckled, looking at him, "I wax poetic. I'm simply making an observation, you might find it unnerving, but it is how I see the world. And I have seen much of this world, yet I find the city with the most people is the easiest to hide in. The crowds afford liberties of not having a single person give a damn about who you are or what you look like. They believe they've 'seen it all'."

"So, is that why Coney Island?"

"I blend in rather well, do I not? 'Just another circus freak', is how you so eloquently put it." Erik snorted, finishing his coffee then reaching for the percolator to refill his cup.

Raoul sighed, "If its any consolation, I _was_ rather drunk when I said that."

"But, it is how you felt, was it not?" Erik rested his chin on his fist, contemplating Raoul with bright eyes, "I imagine the idea that your competition was a disfigured recluse might have caused a little hostility."

"A little?" Raoul's eyes widened incredulously, "I had _everything_ a woman could desire, yet it was only on the rarest of occasions when you were mentioned that her eyes lit up again and she would smile, it escaped me how you could get a reaction like that in her and I could not."

"Perhaps, it was my music, that was all I could offer." Erik murmured, his eyes distant, "I could give her nothing of the comforts that you no doubt bestowed on her, I had not a home, or money, or a future in mind. All I had was my talents, and I laid them at my muse's feet for her own uses."

"There, that right there," Raoul pointed at him, "That was what I couldn't grasp."

"I don't understand." Erik sat up, looking down at the accusing finger.

"You can be poetic about _snow_ for the love of God! You had the words and that's what I lacked." Raoul sat back in his chair, gazing into his now-cold cup of coffee.

"Yet, she went with you at first."

"Only because you stepped aside."

The two men looked at each other, both trying to wrestle with conflicting feelings on the matter, maybe they weren't so different in their deep love for Christine, it was just that neither could express it properly. Not that either would voice such an idea.

They turned when they heard a noise and there was Gustav in his pajamas, hair tousled and eyes bleary with sleep.

"Gustav," Raoul slowly turned in his seat, "How are feeling?"

"Alright." The boy murmured, rubbing his eyes.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Erik asked uncertainly, "I have to go to work, but, Ra- er, _Papa_ can get it for you."

"You're leaving again?" Gustav's eyes widened in confusion.

"I'll be . . . coming right back." Erik fidgeted nervously, willing the child not to burst into tears, if Gustav cried anymore, he'd shrivel up!

"When?" He whined, wringing his hands. Raoul raised an eyebrow curiously, turning to look at Erik who seemed as distressed as Gustav.

"Later today." Erik assured, standing up and sliding his chair in, "I'll come back."

"Promise?" Gustav asked, running up to wrap thin arms around Erik's waist, much to the masked man's surprise, but, then he relaxed and put a hand on the child's head.

"Yes, I promise."

* * *

Erik came back late again, looking very tired as he slid his coat off, hanging it up on the rack then moving into the parlor, welcomed by a roaring fire and Gustav.

"Sir, look, I finished it!"

Erik looked down at the boy, smiling wearily, "Then will you play it for me?"

"Oh, yes!" His eyes had lit up with the wonderment they used to have always.

Erik smiled and moved to his chair, glancing at where Raoul was sitting, looking out the window. He had a mind to toss something at the younger man and get his attention, but thought better of it and resigned to paying attention to Gustav at the piano.

The boy's playing seemed to wake Raoul out of whatever stupor he had slipped into, his head snapping forward to better hear. Erik looked at him with concern, but quickly covered it with indifference. Gustav kept playing the slow, quiet melody that sounded horribly sad, so melancholy, that Raoul had the urge to stop him before he was overcome with the depression that already plagued his alcohol-deprived mind, but Erik was leaning forward to stand, moving to Gustav's side, his hand ghosting over the child's back. Then the song ended and all three were silent until Erik bent down and whispered something in Gustav's ear to which the boy nodded, gathered up the music and then scurried off to his room.

Erik sat back down, tilting his head back and staring at the small chandelier on the ceiling,

"Do you find it tiring?" He asked softly, not looking at Raoul.

"Find what tiring?" Raoul sat up a little, resting his cheek on the heel of his palm.

"Living. Do you find living tiring?" Erik turned his head slightly, looking at Raoul with his bright blue eyes.

"Sometimes. Especially now that I don't have her." Raoul swallowed, breaking eye contact, he didn't want to talk about this.

"Hm," Erik sighed, pressing his fingertips together in front of his chin, "I do."

Raoul blinked at him, "I know the answer is obvious, but, why?"

Erik chuckled mirthlessly, "Its the simple intake of breath that bothers me, the will of the body to live when the heart and soul just aren't in it, not caring about tomorrow. Oh, to be colorless and flat, without feelings or desires and to-" He stopped, sitting up a little, "I'm carrying on again, aren't I?"

"Yes." Raoul nodded, but he had leaned forward, he found Erik's descriptions of things strangely comforting.

"Forgive me, I have a tendency to talk too much when someone will stay long enough to listen." Erik sighed again, rubbing his left temple.

"Does that . . . hurt?" Raoul asked, pointing at the mask.

Erik blinked, ceasing to rub at his pounding head, "No, not really, one gets used to things like this. I barely notice it anymore, really."

"I can't imagine being able to ignore something on my face all day." Raoul shook his head, fingers running through his thick, light hair, "Where does one purchase something like that?"

"A good friend of mine made them for me."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter anymore, he died several years before you came to the Opera, Vicomte, tuberculosis, unfortunately. He was in a lot of pain, toward the end." Erik's eyes became distant.

"Did Christine know him?" Raoul leaned forward.

"Yes," Erik stood up and moved to the window, "But, not that well, she knew he was there and that he helped me, that was all."

"Oh." Raoul sat back, then after a moment of internal conflict, "Erik?"

"Yes?" Erik didn't turn, he merely kept looking out onto the city.

"Why did you kill Buquet?"

There was silence, then Erik started to chuckle, "He insulted me, claimed to have seen me on many occasions, so, I thought the last thing he should see was my face. Fool that I was."

Gustav ran back into the room, smiling for the first time in a long time, "I finished it truly now!"

Erik took the heavy parchment paper, the title scrawled across the top in the child's hand, "Good, very good, why don't we get it a folder?"

"Oh, yes please!"

Raoul watched, the dark memories of that night at the Opera playing through his head, had he not desired to get revenge on someone who ridiculed him at a social gathering? Or, recently, in public and in front of his son? How was he so different?

* * *

That night, Raoul wasn't sleeping, he could hear mumbling in the other room, Erik's room, he threw on a robe and padded down the hall, carefully opening the door and sliding in. There was a candle by the bed, the wick slowly burning it into a stump. Raoul tip-toed forward, his heart racing as he leaned over. Erik was on his right side, the wig and mask on his dressing table, the covers slid down to his waist and Raoul's breath caught in his throat. Erik looked so different, the scraggly brownish-blonde locks with streaks of gray were cut short, his chest moving slowly, inhale, exhale. He was dreaming, his lips tugging in silent words, eyes flicking back and forth behind closed lids. But, Raoul could not take his eyes off the face, the part that was scarred was pressed into the pillow, all that showed was the whole half, and Erik was handsome, or might have been. The sleeping man's hands twitched and he rolled onto his back, and Raoul held in a gasp of horror at scars that he had not seen before, on the man's sides, scars that looked to reach back and stretch across the back. Good God, what kind of horrid being could do these monstrosities to another human? Then, without warning, Erik sat up, eyes snapping open, chest heaving with a cry as his nightmare finally woke him,

"Agh!" Raoul fell over backwards in surprise.

Erik blinked several times before turning to the younger man who was sprawled on the floor, "What are you . . . ?"

Raoul quickly got to his feet, "I-I heard a noise, but you were, um . . . it was nothing."

Erik stared at him before remembering that he was sitting there, bare-chested and mask-less, his hand snapped up to cover his face, "Well, if you've satisfied your curiosity, go away."

Raoul stuttered an apology before running out the door, irked by the venom in Erik's eyes when he had been anything if not worried.

* * *

The next morning Raoul sat at the table as Erik stalked in, he was, as expected, already dressed and he looked at Raoul for a moment,

"I'd like to apologize." The younger man said softly, clutching his mug tightly, "I . . . I had no business in your room and I'm sorry."

Erik leaned on the counter, his head tilted to the side, sharp eyes fixed on Raoul, "Really?"

"Yes, I couldn't sleep and I heard noises, so I thought it might have been Gustav." Raoul rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand.

Erik snorted, causing Raoul to snap his head up, ready to defend himself from whatever ridicule, "I find that very amusing. You're forgiven." Erik tipped his head down, raising his cup to his lips.

"_What_ is so amusing?" Raoul demanded, his hackles rising.

"Nothing, just that _you _are apologizing to _me_. I came here with the very same words on my mind. I realize that you were not simply being an ass and invading my privacy, and I am . . . sorry when I snapped at you."

They stared at each other, Erik sat down across from a stunned Raoul,

"Am I forgiven?" Erik smirked, tipping the cup to his lips again.

"Yes." Raoul stared at him, then he shook his head, sighing heavily, "I don't understand you, at all."

"What is there to understand? You and I cannot, it would seem, grasp what the other is feeling or thinking, it is the way things are. I'd rather not divulge my secrets, my thoughts and I imagine you don't want to tell me anything, so why try? Why do we sit across from each other and try to bridge a gap that cannot be crossed, nor do either of us have a desire to see what is on the other side. I don't, I don't want to see how I look to people, because I know what I look like and I know I have done wrong, I cannot take it back no matter how much it repulses me." Erik sighed, "We don't have the time or energy to try and re-hash our pasts, we're too different, Raoul, too different to even try."

"Are we?" Raoul lifted his eyes from his cup, "I don't think so, at least, not with some things. We both loved Christine with our very souls. We both love Gustav and want what's best for him. Perhaps, I don't understand this music you shared with her and I can't understand half of what you say or do, but I don't think we're as different as you think. We're both lost without her and . . . maybe I don't know how you feel, maybe I was a cruel, selfish, spoiled child, maybe we were both wrong, but . . . I want to try, not for me or you, but for Gustav, if we're going to live, er, _together_, I think we need to come to some sort of understanding."

Erik stared at him for a few moments, "Alright. Fine, you want to know something about me, then ask, I warn you, nothing I can tell is a happy tale."

"Where are you from?" Raoul had decided that simple questions would be the best start.

"I don't know." Erik sighed, looking at the ceiling.

"Really?"

"Really, I could not show you on a map where I came from because I honestly don't know." Erik leaned back in his chair, the clock read a little after four in the morning, "Learning to live with little sleep, are you?"

"My dreams don't allow for sleep. So, you wouldn't be able to contact your family?"

"Ah, well, I'm more than sure my mother would rather I didn't." Erik chuckled darkly.

"Why? Is she dead?" Raoul blinked, resting his elbows on the table.

"No, well, I'm not sure, actually. I just got the feeling that she wasn't too fond of me." Erik looked the other way.

"She was your mother, surely she-"

"My mother didn't possess the maternal instincts I'd always heard mothers are supposed have." Erik said quickly, "She . . . couldn't stand the sight of me. I . . . I disgusted her."

"You were scarred from birth, then?" Raoul's shoulders slumped a little, how cruel a woman could she have been?

"Yes, my mother was . . . such a beautiful woman, I remember her face so clearly, when she would come close enough. I always thought she was so pretty, unhappy and distant, but pretty. I didn't even know anything was wrong with me until she pushed me away. She gave me away to a man that ran a circus when I was quite young." Erik's voice got quieter, he swallowed thickly, "I was so jealous when I'd see how much Meg's mother loved her . . . wondering what had gone wrong with my mother that she didn't-"

He stopped, thinking he'd gone too far.

"What about your father?" Raoul tried, hoping to smooth over any hostilities, he should have known better.

"I never knew my father, he abandoned us before I was born, at least, that is what I was told."

"I see." Raoul stared at him.

They both just sat there, the only sound the muted ticking of the clock.

"So," Raoul said softly, "Even if you knew where your mother was, you wouldn't want to speak to her anyway."

"I didn't say that." Erik murmured, "I would give anything to speak to my mother again."

"What for?" Raoul's brow crinkled in confusion.

"To ask her 'why'."

They stared at each other again, Raoul was the first to clear his throat and break the silence,

"So, then you ended up escaping the circus and living under the Opera house." He leaned back.

"Yes." Erik nodded, taking a deep breath.

"And you fell in love with Christine."

"Yes."

"And that was where I came in."

"In a nutshell, yes." Erik nodded slowly.

"Why did you do it?" Raoul asked suddenly.

"Do what?" Erik blinked.

"Why did you let her go?"

Erik stared at the younger man for a minute, "Because I loved her."

"But, if you loved her, why did you let her go with someone else?"

"I thought, that . . . I was doing what was best for her." Erik stood up, "I think that's enough questions for now. I need to go to-"

"Work? At four-thirty in the morning?" Raoul raised an eyebrow.

Erik stood there, looking away, visibly breathing hard, "I don't know how you fill your time, _Vicomte_, but I have a business to attend to, and since half my staff has disappeared to places unknown, I must try and pull it together before the season begins again."

"Gustav will be wondering where you've gone." Raoul sipped his coffee, pulling a face at how cold it was now.

"I won't be gone long." Erik sighed, "There are just a few things that need looking after before I lock the gates for the winter."

"What do you _do_, though?" Raoul stared at him, "What is so pressing for you to-"

But Erik was already pulling his coat on and leaving.

"Alright then." Raoul sighed, tilting his head back, "Fine."

* * *

The hours trickled by and Raoul ended up sitting at the piano, staring at the cold, ivory keys, impassive and silent. What was it about? Why did music speak to them while it meant nothing but sometimes-pleasant drabble to him? How could it be so powerful that it could twist his life into a million directions and change the world beyond his understanding? Who was Erik that he could charm someone's very soul with a few notes, a few black dots on a line?

"What does it mean?" He murmured, then jumped when a hand was on his arm.

"Papa, what are you doing?" Gustav asked, his eyes light with curiosity.

"Oh, nothing." Raoul smiled, Gustav was looking much better, at least, he'd been able to sleep soundly these past nights.

"Can I show you what I'm working on, Papa?" Gustav scrambled up onto the bench next to Raoul, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

"Of course." Raoul moved to make room, watching the child poise his hand's over the keys and then-

The music flowed out from the piano, it was a good melody, light and less melancholy than the last song Gustav played. Raoul smiled, gently running his hand over his son's hair, watching the same expression he'd seen on Christine's face spread across his son's . . . Erik's son's face. Raoul swallowed, oh how it hurt to know that she'd kept this from him! Why? Why would she, the woman he'd loved with such passion, allow this secret to fester until now it came out with such agonizing sharpness that he felt his heart being ripped apart. He'd devoted his life to his son only to find that Gustav wasn't even his . . . He loved the boy with every measure of his being, he would gladly give his life for the child . . . and now, Raoul had agreed to help another man raise him.

_He still calls me Papa._

That thought gave such comfort to the aching wounds the truth had inflicted, he did not doubt that Christine had told the truth, there is no point to going and meeting one's maker with a lie in your dying breath, no, she had had no reason to lie. It must be true. And even now, as the unfinished little song came to an end, it was all too clear that Gustav was not his, there was not an ounce of him in the boy, not one sign that this was his child.

"Papa?" Gustav said, his voice quavering with concern, "Didn't you like it?"

Raoul blinked, suddenly pulling back into the present, "Hm? Oh, yes, Gustav, I did."

He smiled, leaning forward to hug the boy, Gustav smiled up at him, his bright eyes reminding Raoul of Erik before the child hopped back down and ran to grab a pencil from Erik's desk. Raoul sat there, the smile gone from his face, he hugged himself, drawing a shuddering breath.

"I am sorry."

He started, holding in a yelp when he heard Erik's voice.

"Good Lord, do you _never_ make noise when you walk around?" Raoul breathed out slowly, then he blinked, "For what?"

"For all of this." Erik sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, "All of it. I should have told her to go, I should have . . . known what a mistake I was making."

Raoul didn't speak in case Erik continued.

"I only realized afterward what I had done, I had allowed her to stay a night and it nearly destroyed us all. Hell, it did destroy us! She's gone!" He looked up at Raoul, tears rolling down the mask and flesh, the eyes had a mania that did not sit well with Raoul, "I was such a fool to think that I was supposed to be happy! Good God, why did I not turn her away? You were to be married and I was . . . I made the woman I held in such high regard fall from her pedestal, down to my level." He looked back at the floor, "I . . . just . . . couldn't stop myself."

Raoul could not help but wonder where all this was coming from, then, "You went to her grave."

Erik swallowed, not looking at Raoul.

"_That's_ where you've been going? You've gone there _every day_?" He leaned forward, "And you stay there _all day_? Why?"

"I . . . " Erik swallowed again, sliding a hand up to pull the mask away, but he ducked his head, hiding from Raoul.

"Why?" Raoul asked again, his voice hardening.

" . . . She was my everything." Erik whispered, shuddering.

"She was mine too, dammit! Now you need to wake up and look around, you have a . . . a son to look after, you have responsibilities! You can't keep sitting at the cemetery and pining away for her! She's dead, Erik! You have to find something else worth living for, isn't Gustav worth that much?"

Erik blinked, licking his lips, "You don't understand . . ."

"No, I don't. If I wasn't here, would you leave Gustav all alone so you could stare at a tombstone?" Raoul demanded, anger replacing any pity he might have felt. This was ridiculous, there were far better ways to deal with grief than this, life must go on!

Erik pressed the mask back onto his face and looked at Raoul, the old hatred was back in his eyes, "I wouldn't expect a stuck-up, spoiled, alcoholic to-"

"Don't you _dare_ start on that! Did we not just get done agreeing to act civilized? Dammit, man, how can you get angry at me for my vices when you can't seem to get over your own?" Raoul was standing now, his voice raised as he glared down at Erik, until he too was standing, "Why is it so difficult for you to-"

Erik was about to yell something very hurtful in response, but they both stopped when they noticed Gustav standing there, staring at them both with no expression on his small face. Everything went quiet, both men didn't dare to even breathe for fear of the slightest noise causing a meltdown, from any one of them. Then, Gustav calmly walked over to Erik and took his hand,

"You miss Momma, don't you?" He asked softly, then he looked at Raoul, "You both do."

Erik took a slow breath, closing his eyes before answering, "Yes."

Raoul blinked down at Gustav, "Very much."

"Then we should all go and visit her. Together." Gustav said these words with such force to make one think he was not a ten year-old boy, but an adult of more maturity than either of the adults in the room had shown.

"Alright." Raoul said softly, "If you want to, we can go."

"But, not tomorrow." Gustav said, letting go of Erik's hand, "I want to go and see Phantasma before it closes for the winter."

Erik looked at the boy, his shoulders sagging a bit, " . . . alright."

* * *

So they all went to Phantasma, Erik wasn't really in it, but he went through the motions, showing Gustav everything. Raoul himself was less than thrilled with the request, but he could not help asking the occasional question and Gustav showed such enthusiasm that it wasn't long before all three were far from their worries and lost in the dizzying world that Erik had built.

"Oh, Sir, Papa, look!" Gustav exclaimed, running to a set of strange mirrors that distorted one's reflection.

Erik and Raoul watched the boy as he ran through the different areas.

"So, now is the time I apologize to you and try to once again carry on." Erik sighed, "I do not have much practice with interacting with people beyond the occasional order given. I admit that keeping my feelings to myself and not trying to connect with people has been my comfort zone for a long time and it is a habit I must try and break."

Raoul looked at him and chuckled, "I imagine that I should apologize as well, I have not thought of how this arrangement makes you feel, I myself have not been the most open of people. And, I admit that I have found myself lapsing into apathy about life in general these past few days."

The two men didn't speak after that, they just watched Gustav until a noise caught there ears.

"Mr. Y!" One of the messengers ran up to Erik, "There is a man here who says he has some business with you."

"Thank you." Erik nodded and then the messenger was gone, "Well, I imagine it must be important."

"Come along, Gustav." Raoul called as Erik turned to leave, Gustav ran up to take Raoul's hand.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure."

They made it to one of the buildings where a tall man was standing with a pamphlet.

"You are Mr. Y?" He asked, his voice sounded oily, like a salesman, thought Raoul.

"Yes, I am." Erik crossed his arms.

"I have things might interest you." The man smiled, showing a few gaps where teeth were missing, Gustav slid closer to Raoul.

"Oh?" Erik raised an eyebrow, "The season is over for this year, I won't be conducting business transaction until the first of April. If you are determined, than I will take your card."

"Of course, Mr. Y, my card is here." He handed Erik a crumpled piece of paper and then departed, "I will be back, no?"

"Who was that?" Raoul asked, trying to read the name on the card.

"Not sure, but, he isn't the first trader to come by. I have had many dealings with his kind. They aren't pleasant, but they are a necessary evil to this trade."

"What does he sell?"

"People." Erik looked up from the card, "He sells freaks, acrobats, all manner of those who have no freedom, money, or family. Typical gypsy trade, really, although, he was not one, it is still the same principle."

"That's horrible, didn't this country abolish slavery?" Raoul recoiled from the card as if it was a snake, Gustav, thankfully had been distracted from the conversation by a pair of monkeys in a cage.

"Not the underground market, it is still alive and well, and global, if memory serves." Erik tucked the card into his inner coat pocket.

"You're _still_ going to do business with that man?" He could not help but feel angry at the whole situation.

"Yes, can you imagine how liberating to be bought by someone who has been in your position? I take care of them. I cannot buy them all, but I do what I can." Erik looked at Raoul, "We should go, it is getting dark out."

"Hm, yes, Gustav, come here." Raoul held a hand out for the boy.

"Are we going home now?" Gustav asked, his other hand reaching for Erik's.

"Yes." Erik said softly, feeling the warm, much smaller hand in his own.

**A/N: And there you have it, I'll get more updates as I can and JB, if you be a dear and . . . send me the corrections? I have oodles of time now so I can actually get them done as I go and I'll love you forever!**


	2. Comfort Has Its Price

**A/N: Heh, okay, here's chapter two!**

"I miss her." Gustav said softly, staring down at the tombstone.

"I know." Raoul said gently, his fingers running over the soft brown hair.

"We all do." Erik murmured, standing a little apart from them.

"Can she hear us?"

"Yes, she can." Raoul squatted down, his hand on Gustav's shoulder, "She can see us too."

"Do you think she misses us as much as we miss her?"

"Of course she does, Gustav." Raoul nodded, hugging the boy to his shoulder.

Gustav smiled a little, "I love you, Momma." He whispered, then he turned and started to trudge back through the snow.

Raoul had turned to follow him, but then stopped when he noticed Erik still rooted to the spot, "Erik, come on, it's starting to snow."

Erik blinked sadly at the stone before nodding and following after the boy. They all walked in silence to the carriage that waited at the gate, Raoul stopped to stare at it, leaning slightly to one side, his curiosity of this vehicle had yet to be sated, how the devil did it work?

"Papa?" Gustav leaned out the door, peering at Raoul.

"Hm? Oh, right." He climbed in, sitting across from Erik, who suddenly had an disported smirk on his face, "What?"

"I call it an automobile." Erik said lightly, although his voice sounded a bit rough, "The carriage runs on fuel."

"Ah." Raoul tried to act like this was something he'd heard of before and therefore did not interest him in the least.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Erik chuckled, looking out the window at the snow.

Raoul huffed and rubbed his forehead, one arm around Gustav's shoulders, feigning interest in the weather while having one eye on Erik. They all were silent as they pulled up to Erik's apartments. Erik climbed out of the carriage and offered a hand-down to Gustav, then Raoul climbed out, running a hand through his hair absently.

* * *

They all sat in the parlor, a fire was crackling away in the hearth, casting warmth and shadow across the room and it's occupants. Raoul was staring out the window, thinking about what Erik had said about snow and for some unexplainable reason, he wanted to see when it had at last stopped, see the moon on it, and everything else before it was mushed away under the feet of Manhattan.

Erik looked over a sheaf of papers when he suddenly dropped them into his lap, rubbing at his temple and muttering curses under his breath, his eyes squeezed shut, "Damn . . . "

"Are you alright?" Raoul asked, peering over at the man.

"I'm fine." Erik muttered, sighing as he blinked several times.

"Perhaps you need glasses." Raoul said, trying to hold in a snicker at how odd that would look, Erik gave him a withering look,

"I don't think so." He growled, "I just . . . have a headache."

Erik loathed to admit weaknesses, especially the physical kind, Lord knows he had plenty of those, but it was true, lately his head had ached quite a bit and constantly. He had trouble focusing on the words on his ledgers and music notes on his latest compositions, it was maddening.

"Take some brandy and sleep it off." Raoul suggested, turning back to the window, the flakes were abating, soon would be the magical moment of the calm before the trampling.

"Ha, is that your solution to every pro-" Erik stopped himself, aware of Gustav sitting next to the fire, reading while making quick glances up at the two men. He sighed and stood up, tucking the papers under one arm and moving to the kitchen, unlocked the liquor cabinet and he poured out a glass of brandy, swirling the amber liquid before throwing his head back. The burning in his throat was a welcome reprieve from the throbbing in his skull. He allowed the liquor to warm him from the inside out before wandering over to the desk in the study, his hand sliding over the wood until he found a stack of papers and there, tucked between some pages, was the crumpled business card. Why he was suddenly found it was a mystery to him, but he felt as if it held some importance, well, no sense attempting to puzzle this out right now. He replaced the card and went into his room, sliding the mask off and jumping in alarm when he noticed in his mirror that Gustav was standing there in his doorway.

"Gustav, you startled me." Erik froze, not turning around, apparently his son had inherited his way of being utterly silent.

"Sir, does your head hurt you terribly?" Gustav asked, taking a careful step into the room.

"Its . . . ah, nothing." Erik bit his lip, suddenly breathing was a bit difficult, the impulse to recoil or throw a fit at his privacy being invaded was held at bay only because he was afraid of frightening the boy.

"Maybe . . . if you didn't wear your mask all the time?" Gustav was now standing next to him, his eyes peering up at Erik, but the man was turning his head enough to hide.

"I don't think . . . that would be a good idea." Erik breathed, swallowing as Gustav reached out a hand to grab at Erik's arm, he inhaled sharply, not sure how he was supposed to react until Gustav was standing in front of him, pulling on him.

Erik was shocked to find his knees give out from under him, so now he was kneeling in front of his son, still ducking his head self-consciously. A small warm hand moved to touch his cheek and Erik closed his eyes, the light touch exploring the pits and grooves of his skin, his chin slowly moved so that he would be looking right at Gustav. They stared at each other for awhile, Gustav's eyes full of concern and something that Erik could not label, but he felt himself begging the child to understand, to accept, to love.

"Why?"

Erik blinked slowly, "People are . . . afraid of me, Gustav. They don't like looking at my face."

"I'm not afraid of you." Gustav murmured.

Erik started, he had not expected nor had he hoped for such a reaction, he forgot to breathe and his head felt light until he breathed in finally, his hands reached out and cupped his son's face, the tears shouldn't come, they shouldn't exist, but there they were.

"Sir, don't cry, please?" Gustav's face became anxious and he quickly hugged Erik's neck, "Momma wouldn't like it if you cried."

"No, I imagine she wouldn't, would she?" Erik whispered, hugging Gustav tightly, burying his face in the child's hair. It wasn't for sadness that he cried, it was relief, joy, utter, unexplainable love for this boy, now . . . if only he would call him 'Father' instead . . .

* * *

Erik sat back in his chair, his mask replaced, "What are you doing?"

Raoul glanced at him then moved back to the window, "Nothing."

"You've been staring out that window for almost half an hour, are you looking for something?"

"No, I was just . . . watching." Raoul shrugged.

"I see. Well, I have a few business transactions tomorrow, so I thought-"

"Wait!" Raoul held up his hand urgently, "I think its stopping!"

"What?" Erik blinked, obviously confused by this outburst.

"The snow its . . . er, I mean, um . . . " Raoul flushed and he cleared his throat.

"Hang on, you were watching the _snow_?" Erik leaned forward a bit, disbelief painted across his face, at least, the half you could see.

"Well . . . yes." No point denying it now.

Erik snorted, then he breathed in slowly, looking at the ceiling before bursting into laughter, "W-Why on Earth were you . . . ?"

"I- well, I wanted to see what you meant." Raoul mumbled, looking off to the side to hide his deep embarrassment.

"What I meant?" Erik chuckled, wiping a stray mirth-tear from his eye, "About the snow?"

"Yes, about how it looks, before people walk on it."

The two men stare at each other in silence, Erik tapped his chin thoughtfully, "And?"

"And what?"

"Do you see it?"

Raoul started, looking around at the window, "Yes . . . yes I do see it."

Erik nodded slowly, standing to be next to the window, his hand resting on the pane, "There is some simple beauty in the world, like fresh snow."

"If only people would take time to look." Raoul agreed, then he whipped around to look at Erik, his eyes scrutinizing for any falsity, any inkling of a joke toward him, but he could not see any.

"I was thinking," Erik said softly, "I'm tiring of this. Of Coney Island, I was thinking, we could move into my estate in the country."

"You have an _estate_?" Raoul blinked, yet again considering this man's wealth.

"Yes. I think I shall wait until after the winter, when the season starts again before I hand the keys over. No one will miss me, and I'd much rather live out my days there, where its quiet, peaceful, and beautiful." Erik wasn't looking at Raoul, his eyes were on the window, "I long for those things now, I long to escape this place with too many memories and ghosts haunting my steps. I long to forget who and what I was, to start again."

Raoul nodded, "That is understandable. I'm sure Gustav won't mind the change."

* * *

"Sir, wake up!"

Erik's eyes flew open and he sat up, "What is it?"

"Come look what Papa bought!"

Gustav ran back out the room, leaving a bewildered Erik behind to quickly dress wondering what the devil Raoul could have purchased (with _his_ money) that was damn important enough to wake him so abruptly. He did not even stop to ponder the fact that Gustav had not hesitated to approach him.

"What is _that_?" Erik blinked incredulously.

"A Christmas tree, Sir!" Gustav exclaimed happily.

Raoul was finishing to stand the tree up next to the hearth.

"There's a tree. In my parlor." Erik blinked at it, firstly wondering how they had gotten it in without him hearing them and then wondering at how they would get it back out without making a total mess of the carpeting.

"Yes, Erik." Raoul crossed his arms, "For Christmas."

"Why?" Erik kept his eyes on the monstrous thing.

"You decorate it and put presents under it! And then on Christmas you open all the presents and drink hot cocoa and sing carols and-" Gustav went on like that without caring if anyone was listening anymore.

"Where did you get it?" Erik turned to Raoul, "Please tell me you didn't go to the park."

"Of course not, there are vendors who sell them. You can't tell me you've never had a Christmas tree."

"And there's candles and ornaments-"

"Well, no. I don't feel the insane need to have arbors in my home."

"Don't fuss about it, I got it for Gustav."

"Oh! And Santa comes with his reindeer-"

"But, why? It's a tree, for the love of God!" Erik gestured at the thing, dismayed at the amount of needles already on the floor.

Raoul rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Just go along with it, Erik."

"I know what I want for Christmas!" Gustav laughed, running around the tree, "A puppy!"

Erik mouth dropped open, "You see what you've done? Now he wants a puppy! Good Lord, what is wrong with you!"

* * *

Erik stared at it, "Alright, it isn't that bad."

"See?" Raoul chuckled, rolling his sleeves back down.

The tree was covered in ornaments and strings of assorted things, and there were little candles on some of the branches. Gustav was sitting in front of the tree, staring with a child-like wonder at it while making piles out of the fallen needles.

"But, if it lights on fire, I'm taking Gustav and you can put it out." Erik sighed, plopping into his chair heavily, "And I am not getting him a puppy."

"Fine, I will." Raoul sat on the sofa.

Erik snorted, "With what money? I'm not giving you an advance on your allowance, you blew it all on that tree."

Raoul raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, just looking at the huge tree with a feeling of contentment, this was a normalcy they'd needed, something familiar and comforting like a Christmas tree to chase away the sadness and doubts.

* * *

Christmas came before Erik knew what was happening to his home, suddenly there were things all over the place heralding the festive season, and he didn't mind a bit. It was bright, cheerful and the songs Gustav played on the piano were a welcome change from the dismal mood that all three had been in prior to the tree's invasion. Gustav was on the floor, opening gifts that Erik had finally relinquished to allowing Raoul to purchase, obviously because the man would know more of Gustav's interests outside of music. Erik smiled to himself, watching Gustav, Raoul was in his usual place on the sofa, sipping coffee, smiling also.

"Oh, thank you sir!" Gustav exclaimed, pulling out something furry from a brightly wrapped box.

Raoul's eyes widened, "A kitten?"

"I said I wouldn't get him a dog, I said nothing about a cat." Erik shrugged, "Besides, cats are more practical pets." aria

"Obviously you've never had a dog." Raoul leaned back, "What will you call it, Gustav?"

Gustav looked down at the fuzzy black kitten with it's patches of cream and orange, "Aria."

**(A/N: Hate to interrupt, but if you don't know, an aria is a solo sang on stage, mostly during an opera)**

Both Erik and Raoul exchanged glances, "That's a wonderful name for a cat."

"Yes," Raoul agreed, "Wonderful."

* * *

The rest of the day was spent by making arrangements to prepare selling Phantasma, the real moving would begin in the spring, when the season for Coney would begin again and Erik would have an easier time selling. But, every once and awhile, Erik's eyes would wander to where the business card would somehow always end up poking out of his ledgers as if screaming for his attention. He would pull it out, scrutinizing it as if there was something he had missed. Perhaps the name was familiar? No, he did not know it. Did he recognize the man or his assistants? No, they too did not ring any bells. What was it about this card that kept pulling at him? Nagging his thoughts, but then, what was the point of buying another act or sideshow if he was selling?

"Hm." He rubbed at his chin, squinting at the crumpled, abused little card before stuffing it back into it's place, wondering again why he did not throw it away.

"Is the new home big, Sir?" Gustav asked, stroking a sleeping Aria.

"Yes, it has a horse stable and barn, a huge house, sprawling lawns, forests, a small lake." Erik smiled, reaching down to smooth his son's hair, "It is beautiful."

"I can't wait to see it!" Gustav smiled, then he went back to stroking the kitten's head, "Can I get Aria a collar with a bell?"

"Of course." Erik nodded, then he stood up and moved to the window, the snow was already melting, it was already March, it was finally spring.

Raoul came into the room, "Erik, I'd like to speak to you, in private."

Erik sighed and followed Raoul into the study, "Yes?"

"I have some business in Paris that needs finishing. I must go to finalize a few things." Raoul started, his voice slow as he carefully chose his words.

"I see, and I take it you would wish to go and take care of these matters? Well, by all means, go." Erik shrugged, he cared not if Raoul came and went, what difference did it make to him where the man was?

"I was wondering if . . . if Gustav could accompany me." Raoul took a step back out of habit, if Erik came at him, he was going to run for it.

Erik stiffened, his spine becoming a rigid line as the words sank in, but, he held in the shrieking 'no' that bounced behind his lips, fighting to release itself. He took several breaths, keeping his lips tightly pursed before he turned to look at Raoul, who was leaning away slightly.

"I don't, ahem, see any reason why not." He said, trying desperately to keep his voice level, but his heart seemed to be tugging on his tongue, causing him to sound a bit upset.

Raoul blinked, "You're serious?"

"Yes." Erik nodded briskly, turning his back on Raoul and pretending to be incredibly interested in a pair of birds in one of the small trees across the street.

Neither spoke for a moment as they were caught up in their own thoughts. Erik tried as best he could to keep these thoughts of that perhaps Raoul would not bring Gustav back, that he was allowing the child to slip through his fingers, that he was overly trusting of a man he had loathed for so very long. He tried to be optimistic that this would end alright and that Raoul would be back and with him, Erik's son, his only scrap of the life he'd longed for since he'd first known rejection and hatred born of fear. He wanted to believe that with all his heart that after a few days, Gustav would ask for him, would want to come back, to come home. He wanted to believe that there was love there in the boy's eyes, love for him.

"Ah, alright, then, we'll be leaving for France tomorrow and I estimate we'll be back within two or three weeks."

Erik raised an eyebrow, but did not turn, so Raoul had been planning this? But, he'd said they'd be back . . .

"Do not give into the delusion that this is an out for you, Raoul. If you go against your word . . ." Erik let imagination fill in the blank for him on the consequences.

"I understand."

* * *

Erik stood there, feeling his fragile heart being pulled so roughly in his chest as to be ripped from its moorings as the boy walked up the gangplank, but he could congratulate himself on keeping his control, stemming the tears before they had a chance to escape. Then, that remarkable child, turned and waved to him,

"I'll be back, Sir, don't worry!"

Erik gasped, a stray tear jumped from his eye, and he smiled, waving a return.

* * *

Erik was sitting alone in his apartments, Aria was perched up on his lap, purring with all the contentment a few strokes and a saucer of milk could offer, oh to be so happy with such simple joys. Erik smiled sadly, petting the little cat,

"If we spoil you this much for any longer, you'll grow fat and old, dear little Aria." he murmured, the cat mewed at him, her large yellow eyes reflecting the light from the floor lamp behind the chair, "Well, if they left you with me, that means they will come back, if not for me, then for you. I think though, that I was by far the more favored parent when Gustav opened my present."

He still thrilled at how clever he'd been at selecting the kitten, he'd seen a litter for free in a box on the street, two of the little ones had already succumbed to the cold and the mother had been trying to move the rambunctious few that remained when Erik saw this one, sitting up by herself, gazing at the world with those bright eyes, then she saw Erik and immediately trotted up, rubbing against his leg and mewing softly.

"'Aria'," he smiled slowly, scratching her little ears, "How appropriated for a composer to name his cat such, hm?"

The cat mewed again, moving up to sit on his chest, purring loudly as her paws kneaded his shirt before settling, her eyes closed, she appeared to be smiling. Erik sighed, his sadness was lessened by the little cat's company, the way she settled on his lap or shoulder while he played at the piano, how she followed him around, as if sensing that she was not the only one missing her young master.

"He'll come back." He'd murmur at night as the cat curled at his side on the bed, she would not go to Gustav's room where there was not another warm body, "He'll come back to us, Aria."

* * *

Gustav ran into Erik's arms, hugging him tightly, "I missed you Sir!"

Erik smiled, ignoring again the formality between them, "And I missed you, Gustav."

"How is Aria?" Gustav asked, beaming up at Erik.

"Fine, she misses you though, would not give me a moments peace if I tried to work."

"Oh! I bought her a new collar, for the new house!" Gustav pulled a little leather collar, bright red with a silver bell, out of his coat pocket, brandishing it with such pride, "Do you think she'll like it?"

"Very much, yes." Erik smiled, standing up slowly, running a hand over his son's face, then he looked up and saw Raoul, who looked very well. He did not stink of alcohol, which pleased Erik, it meant he'd kept his promise, and he was begrudging Erik a small smile.

"Let's go home." Raoul said softly, taking Gustav's hand.

"Yes, I miss Aria something awful!" the boy exclaimed, half-dragging Raoul to the carriage.

* * *

"Aria!" Gustav scooped the cat (who for some reason seemed to know that Gustav was coming home and had been sitting in front of the door) into his arms and snuggled his face into her short fur, "Oh, how I missed you, my little pet!"

Erik smiled, he had Gustav back of his own free will, everything would be-

"What's this?" Raoul picked up some of the mail.

"Hm?" Erik stared blankly at the letters, he hadn't really paid attention to the mail during their absence, but now he could see several missives in Giry's hand, he quickly picked them up and tore one open, moving into the study and closing the door. He could've raged for hours on it's contents, until he read all of them, in each one, Madame was begging for him to contact them through mail, begging for forgiveness, for him to let them back into his life, telling him that they loved him and didn't mean him any harm, that it had been an accident. He was about to rip the letters to shreds when he stopped himself, they _loved _him?Then the full force of her letters hit him like ice water.

Had Giry not stayed by him? Quashed all his fears for the future by providing for his every need, held him when he'd wake up screaming as a child and then as an adult when Christine's face would drift into his dreams the past decade? Had Meg not, unbeknownst to him, given her body to finance his endeavors?

Wasn't this whole mess really his doing?

The gun, he'd bought it on impulse, he'd been intent on ending his life on more than one occasion when the sorrow and loneliness became unbearable, but every time he'd raise the gun to his temple, he'd feel the most horrifying sense of fear that he'd drop the gun and flee to his music hall, to drown his sorrow in music. It was his fault, to coerce his beloved into a deal, to play Raoul into his hands with a challenge, to attempt to steal Gustav away and do God only knew what to him . . . To ignore the two who had braved his anger, his sorrow and longing, had been raged at and cursed, to stand by him and gently put a hand on his shoulder, murmur words of comfort when he did not deserve to hear anything but insults and rebukes.

He slowly set the letter down, gulping air like a fish out of water, they were the closest thing he ever remembered to having a family, Mother and Sister, and what had he done? He'd thrown them aside in a bid to get what his ambition and desires screamed out for. And how had that ended for him? Badly, Christine was now out of reach to any on this plane, Raoul was now under his jurisdiction, and Gustav was there, but he was distant at times, referring to him as 'Sir' and not what he longed to hear, 'Father'.

He slowly scrawled across the paper with his pen, trying again and again to write what he felt, but each time he ended up crumpling the papers in his fists, tossing them aside and trying again. He must make this right, he must fix this . . . He must he must he must . . .

He tried every word he could think of to beg forgiveness because it was all his fault, he'd just taken awhile to grow up and see it. Somehow 'I'm sorry' simply didn't seem to cover it.

"Erik, supper is waiting."

Erik blinked into reality, glancing at his clock and seeing that he'd been sitting there for several hours already and it was indeed suppertime.

"Coming." He called in return, standing and hoping that some food in his stomach would bring inspiration. Then he saw that card again, the infuriating little scrap of paper had found it's way next to the letter in his frantic movements to get more paper. He glared at the card as if it was the card's fault that he could not find the words. He was usually so eloquent, it was the card that was blocking his words, making him struggle for them.

* * *

"And we went and visited the Louvre. I loved it so much! There's so much beauty there, I wish I could live there!" Gustav smiled, shoveling more food into his mouth.

"Gustav, slow down or you'll choke." Raoul chuckled, shaking his head.

Erik said nothing, he smiled and nodded when necessary, but beyond that, he could not keep his mind off the puzzles that kept presenting themselves, what did that card have to do with the letters? Obviously it thought it held importance when it kept pushing itself on top of his papers or letters and it seemed to think that it had something to do with them if it had managed to get right next to-

Erik blinked, suddenly disgusted with himself, he was giving too much credit to an inanimate object, clearly it was him rummaging around the desk that brought the card out, not the card itself. That was preposterous.

"Sir? Are you alright?" Gustav asked, his eyes shone with concern.

"Hm? Oh, yes, Gustav, I'm fine." Erik smiled and began to eat again.

* * *

"There was something in the letters, wasn't there?" Raoul asked later, lifting a sleeping Gustav off the sofa.

Erik opened the boy's bedroom door open for him, "Yes, Madame Giry is asking for . . . for my forgiveness. On her and Meg's behalf."

Raoul stopped, a strange, cloudy expression on his face, "And?"

"Not now." Erik gestured to the child, he watched as Raoul tucked the boy in, kissing the forehead gently then he walked quietly back out, closing the door until there was just a crack open to the hallway light.

They went back to the parlor.

"So?"

"I . . . its complicated." Erik sighed, moving to his piano, staring down at it, he did not wish to admit responsibility in front of Raoul, not when he'd already proven how unready he had been to move on with his life or when he would weep openly (he was still in shock that he'd felt that he was comfortable with doing that in front of Raoul), how childish he could be when a rage would overtake him at the slightest provocation.

"How? Meg killed her and Madame Giry helped her escape." Raoul stood over Erik, making him feel very uncomfortable, he had enjoyed the height difference for nothing except so he could feel he was the one in power.

"Yes, that is true, but I feel as if I played a part in all that went on." Erik could not bring himself to give details, Raoul had not been there on the pier before the shot, he did not know the whole story and Erik hurt too much at reliving those accusations by Meg, the feeling of mixed anger and unspoken words of 'how could you?' radiating from Madame as she stood behind him, but then, even she did not seem to realize the extent of Meg's 'help' on his behalf. He had betrayed them, to an unforgiving world that he could not have survived in without them.

"I see, so you wish to allow my wife and your lover's murderer and her mother back into our lives? Ha, you have a dizzying intellect, Erik." Raoul glared at him, forcing Erik to look back at the ivory keys, funny how small he felt right now.

"She was as much my mother as Meg's or Christine's." Erik whispered, fighting to keep control, his emotions and nerves had been so very raw these last few weeks, now with the coming of those letters, they seemed frayed beyond repair.

"Erik, I . . . no, it is your decision." Raoul put up his hand, as if to stop himself from saying something that he'd probably regret, "This is your house and you seem to know what you are doing."

"Seem to' are very strong words. I'm torn, torn between what I want and what I know is right. Funny, I've struggled with that gray area all my life, it would appear that I have much still to learn. Quite a bit of growing up to do." He muttered, standing up slowly and walking into the kitchen, he needed a drink, coffee would suit his purposes . . . coffee with whiskey in it.

Raoul joined him, his arms crossed, he did not think it was a good idea to rush into a decision, but he felt that Christine would not wish them to sever all ties with her own adopted family. So, his last statement rang true for all concerned. This, of course, did not mean that he wasn't wary, he could not forgive Christine's death when it was only a few short months ago that he watched dirt being shoveled onto his beloved wife by careless hands, hands of men who had done that sort of thing so many times before that there was no sentiment, no distinguishing lovely, sweet Christine from any other creature. He wondered briefly how it was to be faced with death every day, to watch countless weeping families and not care what or who or any of the details, to be unfeeling because otherwise you would be overwhelmed each time you had to bury their loved ones in the Earth, never to be seen again.

"We both do." Raoul sighed finally, taking a cup down from the shelf and pouring himself some coffee, stopping when he saw Erik tip a flask to his own cup, "What are you doing?"

"I feel in the need of a stiff drink, so I'm compromising." Erik lifted the cup to his lips, then he stopped and held the flask out to Raoul, who stared at it, wondering if it was a trap, no doubt, "Am I to understand you don't have the same thoughts?"

Raoul huffed, taking the flask and tipping a quick shot into the dark coffee, swallowing down a scalding mouthful, sighing as the bit of alcohol swished in his stomach, calming his nerves and fears.

"Not bad." He nodded slowly, sipping the whiskey-coffee more sparingly as Erik slipped the flask back into the liquor cabinet, locking it, and placing the key back into his trouser's pocket.

"Hm." Erik nodded his agreement, sitting back at the table and taking a healthy gulp of his own drink.

"So, what will you do?" Raoul asked, sitting across from him, twirling the cup slowly on the tabletop.

"I'm not sure, I can't seem to find the words for a letter."

"_You_ can't find words? Good Lord, has hell frozen over?" Raoul chuckled, but added quickly, "I'm sure they'll come to you, if you think about the situation at hand."

"But, you think I'm being rash?"

"Yes, if you want the truth, I think it is all too fresh in our minds, that this would most likely upset Gustav in ways that cannot be beneficial to his mental well-being and overall happiness. I think you should go slowly, correspond with them, at least reestablish communication on that front. Then, in time, ask Gustav how he would feel about this, if he finds it agreeable, then by all means, go forward. But, if he does not wish to see them or becomes frightened, I suggest you keep your relationship at arm's length until the boy can come to terms with it." Raoul sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair.

"That is sound advice." Erik said softly.

Raoul looked up from his coffee, "Really?"

"Yes." Erik nodded, staring into the dark recesses of the concoction in his cup.

"Alright, I'm going to bed then."

Erik made no sign that he'd heard, so Raoul got up and dumped the contents into the sink and left.

Erik sat there, staring at the drink in front of him, feeling as if he could lose himself in that darkness. He slowly stretched his arms out on the table, letting his chin rest on the cool wood, he exhaled slowly, what was he to do?

* * *

Erik was awoken by something rough scraping at his cheek. He slowly opened his blue eyes to find a pair of yellow ones looking unblinkingly at him.

"Aria?" He mumbled, sitting up and realizing that he'd fallen asleep at the table, making his back ache something fierce, not to mention his backside was numb, "Rgh . . . "

"Did you stay there all night?" Raoul appeared in the doorway, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"Apparently." Erik groaned, twisting until his back cracked.

"I see, coffee?"

"God, yes." Erik mumbled, sliding his cup across the table.

* * *

Erik stood there, staring at the man, "Look, I'm selling, I don't need to buy anymore acrobats."

"You say you keep card, make deal." the gap-toothed man with the oily voice was back.

Gustav was hiding behind Raoul, who had agreed to help Erik with some licensing and legal matters today.

"Yes, but that was before I decided to sell. I don't-"

"Look, I have boy, need to get rid of. Take look at least, yes?" the man gestured to his cart.

Erik sighed, "Alright, I'll take a look."

The man went around and pulled someone out of the back, standing the figure (which looked like it was going to topple at any minute) in front of them. Erik moved forward and realized it was a young man of about sixteen or seventeen, his thick hair was short and light blonde and dirty, the eyes were heavy-lidded as if he was still asleep and he swayed on his feet like a drunkard, a strange, dark stain spread across part of his shirt.

"I'll take him." Erik said quickly, reaching into his coat for his cash, "I'll give you fifty and that is all, then you will leave and I never want to see your face again."

The man didn't get a chance to say anything before he was met with the taller man's fiery gaze, blazing from the the deep recess of the mask.

"You settled on probably more than the boy's worth, look at the state he's in." Raoul wrinkled his nose, "Why would you-"

"Look." Erik reached forward and pulled the side of the boy's shirt up, revealing a festering wound.

"My God!" Raoul's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, "How-"

"Once in awhile, they can't get rid of a person, no one will buy for one reason or another, so they do this and then sell them off to some poor fool. Only for the acrobat or freak or whatever to die within days. He's been drugged, opium it looks like, enough to make the pain dull so he doesn't act wounded. This boy only has perhaps a day or two and then he'll be gone."

"Why?" Raoul could not contain the shock in his voice.

Erik stared at the young man, then he lifted the lid of one eye, "Watcher's eyes."

"What?"

"Here, look." Erik moved aside and Raoul could see the irises were white, "Animals have them sometimes, but it's rare for a person to have them, and when that happens its called the 'eyes of the dead', death is supposed to follow them wherever they go, some are superstitious and that makes them do strange things, like sell their son into bondage."

Erik was about to walk away when the boy fell to his knees, his legs no longer able to hold his weight, he grunted in pain, but Erik seemed not to care.

"Can't we-"

"The best I can do is arrange the young man to be buried, then-"

"You're going to let him die?" A small, quavering voice asked.

The two men looked at Gustav, who had remained completely silent the whole time. Erik knelt down, putting his hand on the child's shoulder,

"Gustav, try to understand, he won't-"

"_You're going to let him die_!" The boy was suddenly overcome with sobs, "Please, don't bury him! Not like Momma!"

Erik blinked in surprise and he looked at the sick young man, the black and green ooze soaking his shirt in the same place where Christine had been shot.

"Gustav, I can't-"

"FATHER, PLEASE SAVE HIM!" Gustav sobbed, gripping Erik's jacket so tightly, he feared his son would rip it, until he realized what had been asked and shock overtook him so that he found himself rushing to find a surgeon or doctor and then he was in his apartment and standing there, holding the young man down while the doctor cut out the infection and stitched up the wound, ignoring the screams as the opium wore off, then the fever took a tight hold, and Raoul was watching over Gustav in the parlor, all was like a blur before his eyes. But the whole time this was happening, the one thought that went through Erik's head was,

_He called me 'Father'._


	3. Recovery of the Heart

**A/N: Well what can I say? I'm busy and that's a very poor excuse . . . sorry this is so late, but with moving and Uni, I'm swamped! So, where we left off is that Erik bought a damaged young man from an oily man that barely spoke English and Gustav finally called Erik, 'Father'. Rnr if you please.**

"How is he?" Erik asked softly, closing the door behind him.

Gustav looked up, smiling a little with Aria on his lap, "Much better, I think, he doesn't feel as hot to the touch anymore, Father."

"That is good." Erik pressed the back of his hand to the young man's sweaty forehead, feeling for any change. The young acrobat he had bought three days prior had sustained a terrible wound on his side, probably from a knife or similar weapon, then it was left to fester. Erik and Raoul were both doubtful of the survival of this poor innocent, neither thought he'd live through the fever that followed had followed in the shadow of the infection. Even now his forehead was shiny with a layer of sweat as soon as the washcloth was removed, his eyes dull when the lid was lifted, and he could not move at all it would seem. They just did not have the knowledge and Erik knew any doctor would tell them to make the boy comfortable, then to call the coffin-maker.

Erik sighed as he sat in his chair back in the parlor. Raoul looked up from a sheaf of business contracts he was revising for Erik, there were many people that needed the final paycheck before Phantasma went up on the market,

"There's no hope, is there?" He asked, softly so that Gustav would not hear in the other room.

"No, not without the skill needed to bring him back to health. I fear I do not possess it." Erik groaned, rubbing his head, why the constant ache? Then, he blinked, he remembered what had always made the throbbing in his skull go away, some remedy that someone made for him- "Giry."

"What?" Raoul set the papers and pen down.

"She would know!" Erik stood up, the revelation making him forget his headache, "She's doctored hundreds of young people in the Opera house! She would know what to do!"

Raoul blinked slowly, standing up, "If you think she can save him, then it is our only option."

"Yes." Erik's triumph slipped as he realized what must be done, "I will, uh, go and speak to her."

"Are you sure? I can come with you."

Erik felt his pride rear up angrily at the idea of needing Raoul to hold his hand through this, "I'm perfectly capable-"

"I meant as a precaution, you've shown that you are not bound by the restraints of society or the law before, I don't wish for anyone to get hurt." Raoul held up a hand, "If you think you can keep in control, then by all means, go. If not, I will come with you and make sure you don't harm either of them."

Erik sighed, his rage deflating before it could overtake him, "You are right, no, I am in control. Besides, this is something I must do."

And murderous actions were not the ones he need guard against.

* * *

_I can't do this._

Erik had this thought at least a hundred times on the walk to the hotel where Giry and Meg were hiding, up the stairs (after he had gleaned the room number with a large tip to the front desk), and now he had it again as he stood in front of room number twelve. He swallowed and carefully knocked on the door, feeling his knees tremble when he heard footsteps and a sharp intake of breath as someone gazed into the peep-hole.

The door opened slowly and there she was, Madame Giry, her long hair in it's tight braid, spectacles on a long chain around her neck, she looked up at Erik, her mouth opened slightly as if to say something, but could not find the words. So Erik spoke first,

"Forgive me, I beg you, if you can. I've brought you nothing but woe." He whispered, his voice catching painfully in his throat, making the last word crack with emotion, " . . . Mother."

Giry reached out her hand gently, setting it on his left cheek, the dry warmth catching the tears that came unbidden from his eyes.

"Where is my sister?" he whispered, biting his bottom lip with fear, he had been leery of addressing either of them as such, but now? He felt an innate need for them, as his family, his wronged, abandoned family. Giry herself seemed taken aback by what he said and looked as if she couldn't understand who he was talking about.

"Meg," He murmured, leaning into her hand, "Where is Meg?"

She blinked, "She is inside."

Giry gently led him into the main room of the suite and there she was, sitting up in a chair, her long hair braided and dressed in a lovely dress of light blue, she seemed lost, eyes staring into the empty hearth, unaware of anything until Erik came into her line of sight. She gasped, pushing away with fear, but Erik knelt in front of her, his hand taking her smaller one,

"Meg, I . . . " He swallowed, trying to control the tears, "I'm so sorry."

Meg was stunned, her whole face reflected every facet of the emotion, her mouth opened and closed several times as if she was struggling for air, "What?"

"I said I'm sorry, dear sister, dear Meg." He whispered, ducking his head, hoping she would gather her senses enough to say something, even if it was tell him to go to hell, it would be better than silence. And they both knew now that she had seen him in a more romantic light, hopefully she would realize his heart had and always would belong to Christine, but also that Meg did hold a special place there.

"Sister?" She said softly, but her hand was moving over his head, gently smoothing the thick black hair, "Hm, I suppose that will do."

He started, looking up at her, "It was my fault that- none of this would have- if I'd just- " He broke off, unable to find words to confess his foolish behavior toward those he should have been closest to.

"Shh," Meg soothed, her hands drifting to cup his face, her thumb stroking his left cheek, "I forgive you if you can forgive me."

Erik swallowed, "There's nothing to forgive."

* * *

"So," Giry said after a few minutes, "This boy is ill and you wish for my help?"

"Yes." Erik nodded, leaning forward a little after he had told the whole story.

"I will need to see him. Will that upset anyone?" Giry looked at Erik and he knew she was talking about Raoul and Gustav.

"I . . . I don't see why. We are at a loss and the doctor did not give us any options. I was hoping that you would be able to help and," The words came in a rush, "If you wish, we; Raoul, Gustav, and myself, are leaving for the country in a few weeks, I would like you to accompany us. If you wish." He repeated, cautious as ever.

"I think we should wait to see what the Vicomte has to say before we make any permanent arrangements. First, the boy needs a practiced hand, take me to him." Giry was already reaching for her coat.

* * *

"Good Lord," She murmured, lifting the bandages to examine the stitched-up abrasion, before replacing the shirt's thin fabric, "Its any wonder he survived."

"What of his fever?" Erik asked, anxious despite himself, he did not want the young man to die anymore than the rest of them.

"He'll need a bath, a cold one to lower his temperature. That's a start." She nodded, "I will run a bath, Erik, Meg, get him undressed and bring him to me in the lavatory."

Giry rushed out the door and they could both hear water running in the other room. Erik turned to look at Meg, but she was already sliding the invalid's shirt off.

"Well," she said conversationally, "He has the body of an acrobat."

"Yes, I suppose he was not falsely billed, hm?" Erik sighed and pulled the trousers off gently.

It was true, he had corded, lean muscle stretched across his bones like ropes, strong yet supple enough to do complicated turns and maneuvers. Meg cringed at the sight of the wound as the bandages were removed completely.

"Who could do this to a child?" She whispered, tears of pity brimming in her eyes, "Oh, Erik, I pray you did not suffer as badly as that."

"To be truthful, I've never been stabbed, but I have my share of scars." Erik murmured, lifting their charge into his arms, surprised by the lightness of him, considering he must be as tall as himself.

Meg trailed behind him, her eyes wide and watery as she watched him lower the boy into the cold water. The boy gasped at the frigid water, his mouth opened in a moan of pain, but Giry ignored this and, after she rolled up her sleeves, began to wash him with a cloth, bringing it over his back and shoulders, his head and neck, trying to cool the flush of his skin with Meg and Erik watching helplessly.

"Why were you bothering with him?" Giry asked, the question was not meant to sound callous, but it was true, normally they would have just arranged for the dying purchase to be buried somewhere after his soul departed, instead of thrown into a ditch which happened more often than any of them would like to think about.

"Gustav asked me to." Erik muttered, settling in a chair that somehow found its way into the bathroom.

Meg sighed, leaning forward a bit to put her arms around Erik's neck and resting her chin on his shoulder in a familiarity that both comforted and frightened him, but he did not, could not, shrug her off. He wanted this closeness and if Meg was offering, he would take it, besides, they had all forgiven each other (Raoul and Gustav excluded, the pair had gone out as soon as the two women had arrived) and were glad to be in each others good graces again.

"That is a good reason as any." Giry sighed, stopping to rub her forehead with her forearm, "He'll make it if we act accordingly, but I can't promise he won't be damaged from such a high fever."

"Damaged?" Meg asked, lifting her head slightly,"What do you mean?"

"His mind may have been destroyed by the fever. I have seen it before." Giry muttered, running the cloth over the boy's chest, gingerly bathing the wound, "He may have been made a simpleton by the heat."

"A simpleton?" Erik sat up more rigidly, "That can happen?"

"Yes." Giry nodded grimly, then she stood up, "Leave him there until the water becomes room temperature. Then send for me, I have a few things to undertake before we can move forward, I need to go to an apothecary. Can you manage?"

Meg nodded, moving to her mother's place by the tub, "Yes, Mother."

Erik watched Giry go, now they were alone, the silence was only broken by the boy whimpering and shivering every so often. Until Meg cleared her throat to speak, that is,

"What made you seek my forgiveness instead of the other way around?"

Erik sighed, "When I realized how I'd behaved toward you and M- . . . your mother."

"She's as much your mother as mine, Erik, she loves you just as I do." Meg said, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Yes," Erik mumbled, a bit flustered by this confirmation, "I . . . I know now that it was my own foolish longings that clouded our lives, I could have been more supportive, I could have tried harder to see what was going on, I- . . . why _did_ you do those things?"

Meg's shoulders slumped, "I wanted to help, I wanted to catch your eye, so I tried to prove that I was useful. I found out how to make the most money in the shortest amount of time. I couldn't stand to see you in that sideshow, it broke my heart."

They stared at each other, Meg was trying to smile, but they were both deeply saddened by this conclusion, found too late for either of them.

"If I had known, I would have put a stop to it." Erik offered, putting as much feeling into the statement as he thought necessary.

"But, you blame only yourself for all that happened?" She ran a hand over the still-shivering boy's cheek, moving her gaze to the task at hand.

"Yes, for everything. I blame my impulses when Christine found me. I blame my weakness in purchasing a gun. I loathe my tantrums and childish behavior at times when I should have dusted myself off and carried on with life. I hate myself when I look back on all the lost time of pining away for something that did not belong to me because I wouldn't let it. And, I hate how I ignored those who cared for me the most." Erik breathed slowly, glad to get those words out of his system, glad that he had said them to Meg, the one who truly needed to hear them.

She turned around, her hand reaching out to take his, "And do you know what I hate?"

He was terrified of the answer, but, "What?"

"Thinking that doing what I did was all that I could do. Thinking that you wanted me to be a star, a Christine, when all you really needed was a friend." Meg squeezed his hand, "And I'm sorry that I couldn't see I wasn't the only one hurt by my actions."

They just sat there, hand in hand, until the serenity of these confessions was broken by a low whine from the tub.

"We'd better take care of him, the water's getting warm already." Meg said, releasing Erik's hand and returning to her place.

"Yes." Erik smiled a little, grabbing a towel out of the cabinet, "How does he feel?"

"Well, he's warmer than the water, but not too warm." She ran a hand over the boy's forehead, "Do you know his name?"

"No, unfortunately we know nothing about him." Erik shrugged, "I had hoped he would tell us when and if he recovers, but, if Mother's fears for his mentality bear fruit, we may never know."

They carefully lifted the boy out of the tub and dried him off, then Erik carried him back to the makeshift sick bay in the study (really the only room left), placing the now-asleep young man on the sofa.

"I'll get him some clean pajamas." Meg said softly and she scurried out to Erik's bedroom, this was practical since the boy and Erik were the same height.

Erik sat down at the desk, watching the shivering boy and wondering to himself about all that had happened these past few hours, lost in thought until Meg came back into view with a pair of pajama bottoms in her hand.

"I thought the top could wait until after Mother changed his bandages." She shrugged and started to slide the bottoms up the boy's legs and past narrow hips.

Erik nodded, "Alright, so now we wait?"

"It would seem so." She sighed, looking down at her patient, his eyes were opened slightly, "What strange eyes . . . "

"Watcher's eyes." Erik nodded again, crossing his arms.

"They're so beautiful; enchanting, even." Meg murmured, leaning forward to get a better look when a small black cat with orange spots hopped up onto the sofa back, "Oh! And who is this?"

"That's Gustav's cat, Aria." Erik smiled at the sly little creature.

"Aria? That's so lovely." She giggled as the cat rubbed against her proffered hand, "How very befitting of a musical genius's son."

Erik scoffed, "Genius? No, not so much a genius, I'll credit myself talent, but no genius."

"You are a genius, I have seen your compositions and I can debate with the best on the merits of your work." Meg snapped defensively, her eyebrows knitting together in an angry line before softening, "There is such a feeling that overtakes me when you play, its like nothing I've ever felt before."

Erik smiled contentedly at the praise, "Thank you, little sister."

"You're welcome, big brother." Meg smiled too.

* * *

Raoul stood there in the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself now, he and Gustav had gone out, the boy needed some new shoes, so that had given him an opportunity to escape the apartment while those women were there. He had halfway hoped that Erik would do something foolish and save them both the trouble, but Erik had looked quite pleased with himself when the trio had walked into the door.

Gustav scampered off to the study, to check on the nameless boy, no doubt, and he could see Erik and Meg in the parlor, so he went to his own room to be alone with his thoughts until Erik would come and force him to be social, what irony.

Raoul sat at the small table in his room, running his fingers over his face and feeling the lines these past months had left. He was so tired, not physically, but emotionally and mentally, he was tired of having to be the one to grow up and rebuke Erik for doing what he longed to do, hide away and stare at her grave for days, to weep and loose himself in his own misery, to be apathetic and not sleep, to just forget to live. But he couldn't, Gustav looked to him for comfort when Raoul could not soothe his own roiling thoughts and pain. Gustav needed him to be strong, but Raoul just wanted to be weak and helpless, to let someone else worry about tomorrow. Gustav needed him to be the mature adult and handle his grief when all the man wanted to to was scream and rage and break things, to throw an infantile tantrum until he was exhausted beyond all reason, until the pent-up anguish was all but spent.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that when he had so adamantly lectured Erik on how to behave like an adult.

Then he decided to puzzle on how he felt about the man. Raoul had thought the only feelings he could have toward Erik was unexplainable rage and fear, that each time he thought of him, he would like nothing more than to kill Erik with his bare hands.

But, now?

He remembered how he would wake up in a terror, nightmares of the Punjab around his neck in that deep dark pit the Phantom had called home plaguing his mind, he would silently curse the creature with such a passion as to bring tears to his eyes. Raoul would have sweats when he'd think that he heard a strange noise or saw a shadow steal around a corner, fear overtaking every emotion with the thought that that _thing_ was in his home, the one place he felt safest. Then, when the news of Erik's death reached his ears, he inwardly rejoiced, trying not to notice the obvious change in his wife, how she would come to dinner with red eyes from crying or when she would gaze at the piano longingly those first few weeks. He had made himself blind to how much she loved something that he felt was a monster, something to be loathed and rejected.

But, now?

Raoul had learned more about this mysterious man than he ever thought he cared to, he had seen those scars and heard the story and he felt _anger_ toward all those cruel, insensitive people. Those people who could look at a child in a cage and laugh or hurl insults. How could they in good conscience do those things and then tuck their own children in bed at night? How could they whisper words of comfort and love to their own children yet act like beasts to another poor, defenseless boy? How badly had Erik been mistreated to make him feel less than human, to feel that the only place he had or would ever belong is in the shadows?

Yes, Raoul thought about Erik more than he'd ever tell anyone, he had such respect for him, for his will to live, to attain that which others take for granted. He had heard the music and was starting to get an ear for it, to hear it at night in his dreams, because that was what had connected Erik to Christine, so he wished to also feel that connection to her spirit as well, just to be close to her, and it was almost as if she would speak to him when Gustav or Erik played, so he began to encourage Gustav's music lessons with his father.

He blinked, what a strange thought. Gustav's father. How kind and compassionate Erik had been to allow Raoul to stay when any other man would have left him to his fate, whether it be debtor's prison or a gutter with a bottle in hand. Erik had given him his life back, had allowed him to stay and be with Gustav, he had not forced the boy to stop calling him 'Papa', he hadn't even told the boy what to call him, for that matter. Erik had been merciful enough to allow life to continue on as it had been. Raoul had seen the hurt in the masked man's face, even when he tried to hide it, pain at each time Gustav fumbled with what to call Erik and he had done nothing to stop it. Should Raoul have encouraged Gustav to call Erik 'Father' or even 'Papa' by now, if the boy had continued to call him 'Sir'? Was that not the truth? Even if it was a painful, stabbing truth, was he not allowing Gustav to lie each time he looked to Raoul and not Erik for all that a father gives his son?

"Raoul."

The Vicomte snapped to reality and turned slowly to face Erik, "Yes?"

"We'd like to speak to you about the future we intended." Erik stepped back from the door, indicating that Raoul should come along now.

* * *

They all sat in the parlor, Meg and Giry were on the sofa, Raoul stood glaring out the window, Erik was in his chair by the hearth, and Gustav was sitting with his back against the chair, fussing over Aria.

"Raoul, would you at least turn so I know you're listening?" Erik said and it wasn't at all a request.

Raoul huffed and turned to lean against the window pane, not looking at the two sitting where he normally sat.

"Thank you," Erik cleared his throat and proceeded, "Now, I have already made the offer for you two to come with us to my estate in the country, that being said, Raoul, Gustav, I'd like your feelings on this first."

Gustav looked up from his cat, "Father, Momma would wish me to forgive, I know she would, so, I think we should all go." Then he went back to petting Aria as if that settled it.

Raoul could have screamed at Gustav for putting pressure on him to now be as much an adult as a boy of ten was capable of, but he simply took a deep breath, "They are . . . were Christine's family as much as any biological bond, I imagine she would wish the same consideration from me."

Raoul had slipped that little bit of blood-relatives in sideways, just to see how Erik would react, damn the man and that mask that made his emotions harder to read.

"Then it is settled as far as we are concerned," Erik went on after nodding to Raoul, "All that is left is your decision on the matter."

Giry sighed, "That boy will need looking after until he recovers fully, I suppose you will take him with you? And I will not lie and say that my heart would not break further if I was never to see you again, Erik. I will go."

Meg nodded in agreement, "As will I."

* * *

"Father, Papa, look who I have here with me!"

Erik and Raoul looked up to see Gustav standing proudly with the young man at his side. Erik was the first out of his chair, taking the young man's shoulders and carefully guiding him to a chair, the three crowded around him.

"Do you speak English?" Erik asked, the boy's white eyes blinked at him, then he nodded.

"What is your name?" Raoul asked gently.

" . . . " The boy scratched his head, deep in thought as if this was a difficult question before turning to Gustav. The younger boy leaned up and listened while the other whispered in his ear,

"He says his name is 'Tuck'." Gustav said, smiling.

"Why didn't he just-" Raoul blinked in confusion.

"Tuck," Erik said over the question, "How old are you?"

Again, Tuck leaned in to Gustav and the message was relayed, "He says he's eighteen."

Erik leaned forward, taking his chin and forcing Tuck to look him in the eyes. Gustav and Raoul looked at Erik in confusion, but Tuck stared at him, mouth opened slightly, then Erik shook his head, brow furrowed,

"He's simple."

"How can you tell?" Raoul blinked, looking closely at the young man.

"He wasn't afraid, just nervous of us, probably due to some cruelty at the hands of an adult male, most likely the man we met. His eyes don't register things like other people and he won't talk to us without saying something to Gustav first. Notice how even now he isn't listening to me but examining something outside the window when any normal man would immediately defend himself and his mentality."

And it was true, when other people would stare at Erik with curiosity or stand up in outrage at being insulted so, Tuck was sitting perfectly at ease and didn't seem to care that they were talking about him, he was indeed looking out the window with dull eyes and slack mouth.

Gustav looked at Tuck, taking the older boy's hand, "Tuck."

This pulled an immediate response of Tuck's head snapping to Gustav, tilting his head slightly.

"I want to show you my cat, Aria, come on."

Tuck rose with a practiced grace of an athlete, then the two went out the door, his eyes on the smaller boy and not glancing in any direction.

"Seems to be quite attached to Gustav." Raoul pointed out, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yes, perhaps this would be a good thing for the boy to have a companion. Keep him occupied when we can't." Erik shrugged, "Besides, now we can move without worrying about 'Tuck' dying on the way from a relapse into the fever."

"Shall we start packing then?"

"Yes, I will tell Meg." Erik left the room, Raoul stood there, fingering a loose button on his vest, wondering why he hadn't noticed it before, trying to keep his mind off being in the same house as those two.

* * *

"No, Tuck, like this." Gustav was sitting at the piano, trying to teach Tuck, "See? A, B, C, G."

Tuck smiled and ran his fingers slowly over the keys, producing anything but a score. Gustav laughed which seemed to amuse Tuck further as he smiled wider and laughed. The two had been inseparable the last two days of packing. Giry was keeping a close eye on Tuck and continued to administer medicine to him to fight off the last of the fever.

Meg was sitting doing some cross-stitching, smiling slightly at the antics of the two at the piano

how carefree and happy they were!

"Gustav," Erik came into the room, "Where is that cat of yours? I thought the idea of the bell was to make her easier to find."

"Oh, one minute, Father!" Gustav climbed off the bench, with Tuck following after him, "I'll get her!"

"You and Tuck be quick about it! We're supposed to be leaving in ten minutes!" Erik put his hands on his hips, watching the pair.

Meg chuckled, "You really sound like a father now, Erik."

"Hmph," He leaned against the wall, regarding the bookshelf, how odd it looked with nothing in it, "It took some practice. You know, Gustav will be eleven soon, in June, actually."

"That's, what?, three months from now?" Meg counted on her fingers, folding her current project into her carpet bag, "Do you know what you're going to get him?"

"I thought, that since we were moving to the country, a horse was in order." Erik sighed, "I know that Raoul had Gustav take riding lessons, so, why not?"

It was odd, having civil conversation with a person, let alone Meg Giry, but then, it was nice, a pleasant change from his former mood. Erik leaned his head back, now that he had them back, his headaches weren't as bothersome as they had been before, thank God for home remedies.

"Erik, we're ready to go." Raoul said, glancing at Meg for the briefest of moments before ducking back out the door.

"Alright, let's go then." Erik pushed off the wall and offered a hand to carry Meg's bag.

* * *

They stood outside, facing the music hall that had been the beating heart of Phantasma for so many years, Erik looked on either side of him, at all these people in his life:

Madame Giry who he now called Mother with her shawl hanging loosely on her shoulders and her small medical pouch under one arm, spectacles perched at the end of her nose.

Meg, a parasol protecting her from the sun, wearing a flattering yellow dress, clutching at Erik's arm. Her cheeks had once again taken on their rosy color, the eyes once more sparkled like the used to.

Raoul, coat and hat in place, tugging on his gloves and sliding his cane under one arm. Looking all the world like the dignified noble he was born as.

Tuck, holding tightly onto Gustav's sleeve as if afraid of going more than a few steps from the boy, a cap on his head, a soft, white shirt that draped over his slender, muscular form, his face hollow and pale showing that he still battled his sickness.

And his son, Gustav, the basket-cage containing a protesting Aria in one hand and a smile on his face, his new coat and hat looking positively dashing on the young boy. Erik could not stop the swelling pride he felt in his chest at the sight of him, so fresh and full of life and wonder.

"Come along, the train won't wait for us!" Raoul said impatiently, eager as the rest of them (excluding the simple Tuck) to leave this place of ghosts and memories behind.

**A/N: N'kay, I know that sounds like the end, but it isn't! Stay tuned, I will have more! And the way I portray the Madam Giry and Meg, I love their characters and I wouldn't give them up for anything! They are Erik's family and that's how I will always see them. RnR!  
**


	4. A New House, The Same Mask

**A/N: I'd like to take a second and thank everyone who has reviewed, faved, followed, or even read this fic! A big warm hug for judybear, my faithful reviewer and correcter (is that even a word?), and to all the notes I've gotten from people, I deeply appreciate any help considering how hard my soupy brains are working to polish this fic up! So please, feel free to add to my review collection because I love them all!  
**

Erik looked out the window again, settling back in his seat on the train as it headed to their new home, he was sharing the booth with Meg and Giry, in the booth behind them was Gustav, Tuck, and Raoul. Meg sat next to him, cross-stitching something while Madame read. Erik drummed his fingers on the armrest, he was bored, admittedly he could maybe start a conversation or reach over his head and pull down his folding writing desk, but he couldn't justify disturbing either females with idle prattle or undoing the desk for a mere hour ride (considering he'd been sitting here for nearly an hour and a half already kept nullifying the argument). So he sat, rotating between tapping his foot, drumming his fingers, or humming.

"Erik, stop fidgeting." Meg said, smiling a little as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"Sorry." Erik sighed, tilting his head back, they had had a time getting on the train, apparently the sextet had drawn quite a bit of media. Those damn reporters . . .

_They had been just stepping out of the carriage and grabbing their luggage when they were swamped by the vultures. Clearly Raoul and Gustav's absence from the general public outside of Coney had made people curious as to their whereabouts. It also seemed that the reporters had gotten their dirty claws on the story of Christine's death, mysterious as Raoul and Erik tried to keep it, it was still a story._

_ "Hey, Vicomte, where ya been?"_

_ "Isn't that the girl who shot your wife?"_

_ "Hey, kid, how do you feel since your mom died?"_

_ "What's with the mask?"_

_ Erik growled, moving to block Gustav and the Giry's from view, he looked at Tuck, nodding his head to the boy, "Get Gustav and the women inside, now."_

_ Tuck nodded and muscled his way through the crowd, one arm tightly around Gustav's shoulders and the other shielding Meg, Giry close behind them. Raoul was arranging to get the luggage put away while Erik pulled the brim of his fedora low on his forehead,_

_ "How the devil did anyone find out we were moving?" He growled._

_ "Search me, do you thunk someone at their hotel told?" Raoul shrugged, handing a bag to Erik._

_ "Hmph, damn." Erik muttered, "Well, at least where we're going no one will bother us."_

_ "I hope so."_

The rest of it had gone just fine, once they got on the train, they hadn't had a single problem, just some curious glances at Erik or Tuck, but otherwise nothing nearly as bad as that.

Erik huffed, looking back out the window for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes.

"Erik, if you're so bored, take a walk, we're the only ones in first class." Giry suggested, closing her book and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, Mother." Erik smiled sheepishly, glad to finally have something to do, he walked to the end of the car, opened the door and stepped out into into the open air, noticing someone already there, "Tuck?"

The boy turned to look at Erik, smiling a little before looking back to the landscape as it sped by. Tuck was still recovering, even now he was holding himself up on the railing to stop from toppling over. Erik moved to stand next to the youth, examining the face for any emotions, noticing offhandedly that Tuck had stubble along his jaw and on his chin.

"I didn't think you liked being very far from Gustav." Erik sighed, resting his elbows on the railing next to him.

"Don't." Tuck mumbled, shifting his weight a bit.

"Well, he isn't here right now, is he?"

"No." Tuck shook his head after checking behind him.

Erik stared at him, there were times when Tuck would display such insight and then others when he proved how dense he really was.

"Did you have any family?" Erik asked, supposing Tuck might be open for conversation.

"M-hm." Tuck nodded, lowering his eyes, "Father an' me."

"What happened to him?" Erik straightened, his eyes sparking with interest.

" . . . um, he die." Tuck mumbled, kicking his toe into the railing a little, "Die and leave Tuck alone."

"I'm sorry." Erik murmured, no longer wishing to press for information.

"Alright." Tuck smiled weakly, drawing a shaky breath, "S'alright."

The door slid open and Gustav popped his head out, "Tuck, Papa says you should come in now."

Tuck's head snapped up and he turned to look at Gustav, "Comin'."

Erik assisted him to the booth and left him there, turning to walk back out to the railing, he wondered about Tuck and what he must have been like before the whole mess. The young man still had stitches and bandages under his shirt and Giry kept forcing medicine down his protesting throat. Yet, Tuck stood by Gustav with single-minded loyalty, like a faithful guard dog, staying at his post even when he was tired and sick and couldn't stand on his own.

Erik smiled slightly, closing his eyes and feeling the wind on his face, it was refreshing and he couldn't wait for the train to stop at their destination, to get away from the city, even though he had enjoyed the freedom of Coney Island, he was deeply anticipating the ability to stand outside and not worry that anyone would see him and immediately call the police or worse, the men in white coats. He was excited despite himself to be allowed the sun on his face and a cool breeze free of salt.

* * *

Raoul looked up from his paper, meeting Tuck's white eyes, Gustav was asleep, his head leaning on Tuck's shoulder, the older boy was wake and staring at Raoul.

"Yes?" Raoul folded the paper, resting it in his lap.

Tuck blinked at him, his arm draped over Gustav's shoulders, " . . . Nuthin'."

Raoul wasn't sure if he trusted Tuck yet or not, there was no denying the former acrobat was steadfastly protective of Gustav, perhaps the result of the child being the only person Tuck saw during the first days of his fever. And yet, there was an odd manner about the young man that made Raoul nervous, especially when he would notice Tuck glare at him or Erik when either would get close Gustav or how his spine would straighten rigidly if Gustav was out of sight for more than a few minutes. Then, on the other hand, if Raoul put his hand out to help Tuck or just to be kind, the young man would flinch away, his eyes widen with terror, like he feared a beating at every turn.

_That's probably exactly what he thinks._ Raoul sighed, setting the paper aside and leaned forward, looking up at Tuck, "If you're tired, you can close your eyes for a bit."

Tuck stared at him and Raoul could see just how exhausted he was, how long had it been since he'd last slept? Or ate for that matter? Usually Madame Giry had taken care of the immediate needs, but Raoul hadn't paid very close attention to Tuck, not to say he wasn't concerned about the young man's health, it just never dawned on him that Tuck didn't seem to know when he was tired or hungry unless someone told him he was.

The booth door slid open some minutes later, Erik stood there, framed eerily by the setting sun streaming in the hall behind him,

"The train will be pulling into station in five minutes."

"Alright," Raoul nodded and leaned forward, shaking Gustav's shoulder a little, "Gustav, wake up."

The boy's eyes fluttered open, "Are we there yet?"

"Yes, help me get your things down." Raoul stood and pulled Aria's basket-cage down from the rack, not noticing Tuck until he turned, the youth was standing, nearly five inches taller than Raoul, with his hands outstretched, "Ah, thank you Tuck."

The Vicomte passed him the cage and reached for the other bags.

* * *

It was just a short carriage ride to the house, which lived up to expectations of being too big and grand to belong to anyone other than nobility. Erik stepped down, greeted by a small staff of his cook, a young girl who was the maid, and a middle-aged man named Gerry.

"Evenin', sir." Gerry smiled, holding his hand out for Erik's jacket, "Shall I have the boys bring the luggage up to the rooms as per instructed?"

"Yes, thank you, Gerry." Erik nodded, turning to the cook, "We'll be taking dinner at eight."

"Of course, Mr. Black." The cook scurried off to her kitchen, followed closely by the girl.

"'Black'?" Raoul asked, sliding his hat off and handing it to Gerry, who had called a pair of men from the stables.

"Acquiring a name again, Raoul." Erik tapped his jaw knowingly, "A man with money needs a surname."

"I suppose." Raoul sighed, watching the staff scurry about, skirting around Erik and giving him frequent glances.

"Father, can I go exploring?" Gustav asked excitedly, his eyes wandering around the huge outbuildings and turning in every direction.

"Not now, Gustav, wait until it is light again. I fear there may be places a young boy could get hurt if he was on his own." Erik shook his head, walking up the short steps to the front door.

"I wouldn't be alone, I have Tuck." Gustav stepped back to stand next to his friend.

"No you don't, Tuck needs to have his dressing changed and to take his medicine, and he needs to rest. You've run him ragged these past few days." Giry looked down her nose through her small spectacles at the two.

"Oh, can't it wait?" Gustav asked, "Please?"

"No, Gustav," Raoul said, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Madame says its what he needs, then you must listen."

Meg stood uncertainly, her face was a bit pale, Erik opened the door for them all, grabbing Meg's arm as she was the last to go past,

"Are you alright?" He asked in an undertone.

"Oh, yes, I think the trip took it out of me." She smiled weakly, "I just need a rest and I'll be fine."

"If you're sure." Erik said softly, releasing his hold on her.

"I am, thank you." Meg nodded and moved to the stairs with the others, following Gerry up to the bedrooms.

Erik sighed, moving into the very large parlor. He had hired all these people with Giry's help, she had explained the situation he was in and made them all swear to keep his privacy, so far all had gone well. Gerry and the two men in the stables (Bryan and Carter) had agreed almost at once, suggesting that perhaps Erik should be wary of them, but then, he was certain the amount of privacy Erik had demanded must have brought up interesting gossip. The cook (he could never remember her name) and the maid (Lucy or something simple like that) both worked in the kitchen and the girl was in charge of cleaning. So, it all worked out rather nicely, except when the girl found herself in the same room as Erik during his infrequent stays here at the house, the poor creature would be so nervous that some of the china had been reduced to shards of glass on the carpeting.

He reached the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy, sipping it while gazing out the tall window, one of many in the room. Yes, he could be quite happy here.

* * *

Gustav sat on the counter across from where Madame Giry had Tuck sitting, his shirt was off and the bandages were off. Tuck didn't seem to mind while the area around the wound was cleaned and the bandages were replaced. His white eyes were fixed on the cat that was playing with some bit of rubbish on the floor. Gustav tilted his head to the side,

"How long until he's better?"

"Well," Madame Giry straightened to examine her handiwork, "If I had my way, he would be confined to bed for at least a few days to recover, but if I know anything, he'll be running around after you, so a few more weeks."

"If he stays in bed, will he get better faster?" Gustav asked, his small face full of concern for his friend.

"Yes, he would." Madame Giry nodded, sighing as she ran a hand over Tuck's cheek, "You need a shave, young man."

Tuck blinked up at her with such honest eyes, but he didn't say anything.  
"In fact, all you boys will need haircuts." Madame Giry chuckled softly, "Alright, off with you."

Gustav hopped down, picking up Aria and grabbing Tuck's hand, "Come on, the conservatory is supposed to be on this floor."

Madame Giry smiled while she watched the two disappear out the door, only to have them replaced by Meg,

"Why, Meg, what is it, darling? You look very pale, are you ill?"

"I need to speak with you, in private." Meg said softly, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Raoul looked around his room, it was very spacious with a large bookcase, desk, wardrobe and closet. He shook his head, how much money did Erik have anyway? Clearly he was rich, but this? There was no way in hell he could have less than any man of nobility (or royalty in some cases) in any given country. This was larger than the estate Raoul had inherited from his father, if that was any measure for the financial state Erik inhabited, a testament of how they both occupied different ends of the wealth-spectrum. He set his bags down next to the bed, then he wondered about Erik, what might have happened if he had been discovered instead of showcased? What if Erik had had a mentor who could see his potential? Where would he be now?

Raoul shook his head, smiling at the idea of Erik at parties, conspiring with his peers, discussing politics over a billiards table with some mates, or playing in crowded concert halls, all with a wizened old man or woman chuckling and remarking to their neighbor that they had found the man who could dazzle the heights of society with his voice and playing and his intellect. Certainly he would not have given Christine a second glance, as her 'kind' would have been beneath his dignity, he would have been the most eligible bachelor in France, or wherever he was from. It would not have matter what his face looked like, he would have been desired by woman because he would be famous and rich and that seemed enough for most.

He started, wondering why he was thinking about this, it didn't matter what Erik _might_ have been, he wasn't a world-renown composer or even one that anyone _would_ associate with readily, he was Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, the man who had driven fear into the Thespian's heart for so many years.

"Until I put an end to it all." Raoul nodded, now Erik was as much of a civilized human being as one in his position could be.

Raoul finished unpacking in time to hear the dinner bell, he straightened his vest and rolled his sleeves back down, moving to the door, taking one last sweep of the room before taking the stairs down to the dining room.

* * *

They ate in relative silence, all of them exhausted from the trip and each sitting in his/her own thoughts. The meal was delicious, all three courses of it, making Erik once again congratulate himself on his employment choices, all of the staff proved to be more than competent and he was quite at home here. Well, as close as he ever came to having a home at any length.

Later, they all sat in the conservatory, listening to Gustav play while each went about their own interests. Meg and Giry occupied one of the sofas, cross-stitching and reading, respectively, Erik was at a table, drawing (which is something he had not done in a long while, a good sign in any case), Raoul was having a drink (Erik surmised that one wouldn't kill him) and standing by the fireplace, gazing into the flames, and Tuck was fast asleep on the hearthrug, his thick blonde hair tousled and messy and he mumbled in his sleep every so often.

Yes, all was quiet and peaceful for once in a long, long time, the general animosity that would have taken hold of any of them before had settled into mutual indifference, or, for Erik and the two women, anyway, it had grown into a strange attachment. They all had their own opinions about the situation, but each felt they had better not speak it aloud for fear of ruining the tremulous bonds that had been established.

The clock chimed ten before Gustav stopped playing to yawn hugely, Aria also yawned and stretched, arching her back, then settling back down on a chair she had apparently claimed as her own.

"Good Lord, I think it's time for some young men to go to bed," Raoul chuckled, moving to muss Gustav's hair, "Off to bed."

"Oh, but Papa, I'm not finished! Father, can I stay up a few more minutes?" Gustav turned to Erik, his eyes wide and begging.

Erik sighed, setting down his pencil, he _hated_ to deny Gustav anything his heart desired, but, "No, do as Papa says, time for bed."

"What about Tuck?" Gustav stood up from the piano bench, gathering Aria up in his arms.

No sooner had the words left Gustav mouth than Tuck's eyes fluttered open and he was struggling to get into a standing position.

"Whoops, come on, Tuck." Raoul quickly set his glass down, sliding an arm under Tuck's and pulling him up before he fell, "Easy now."

Tuck stared at Raoul, his eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like terror, he tried to wriggle out of Raoul's grasp, but wasn't quite strong enough to do so. Giry quickly stood up and took Tuck from Raoul, the boy immediately relaxed as if a switch had gone off in his head.

"I'll take him, Raoul." She said calmly, running a hand carefully over Tuck's back.

"Alright." Raoul sighed, he was too tired to try and figure that one out.

Erik watched the three go out the door toward the bedrooms, "I think I'll turn in as well. I have things to do concerning the house tomorrow. Good night."

"Night." Raoul muttered, walking out the other door to the library.

Meg opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but relinquished to a sigh and, "Good night, Erik."

Erik lingered by the door, waiting to see if she would say anything else, but when she merely went back to her work, he nodded and slunk out the door to the stairs. He was walking past Gustav's bedroom when he noticed the light by the bed was still on.

Erik pushed the door open slowly and Gustav looked up from staring at something that he quickly slid under the covers.

"Is something wrong, Father?" He asked softly, eyes full of innocence, a sure sign the boy was up to something.

"No, I just came to say good night." Erik moved to sit on the edge of the bed, "What have you got there?"

Gustav fidgeted guiltily before surrendering the small square of paper, "I found it in your desk."

Erik flipped the paper over, and he felt a tug in his chest, it was one of his watercolor paintings of Christine. He looked over it at his son.

"Are you very mad, Father?"

"No, no, I'm not mad." Erik reached over and stroked Gustav's hair, "You miss her don't you?"

"Very much." Gustav said softly, his voice cracked and tears were in his eyes, "But, I don't want you or Papa to worry."

Erik blinked at him, tears seemed inevitable at this point, so Erik scooted closer, "Its alright to cry Gustav, it makes us human. I cry and Papa cries too. There is no shame in grief."

Gustav's lip quivered and as if on some cue, heart-breaking sobs began to roll off his small frame. Erik bit his lip and carefully lifted the boy into his arms, running a hand over the stuttering back and shushing gently. Gustav had been so careful with his sadness for everyone's benefit. The maturity he'd displayed recently was just a masquerade, and Erik knew better than anyone that holding in feelings could have disastrous effects. But, it was an odd thing for Erik, to give someone comfort and have it accepted, to feel the face of his son pressing into his shoulder and arms gripping tightly onto him, odd yes, but not unwelcome.

Erik looked down at Gustav, brushing the tears away, he leaned his head down slowly and pressed his lips to the child's forehead, "I love you, Gustav."

"I love you, too, Father." The boy whispered, closing his eyes and relaxing into Erik, his sobs reduced to hiccups and snuffles.

Erik couldn't fight the tremendous flood of euphoria that washed over him, nor did he desire to, to hear those words from his offspring, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before, he could hear music in his ears and warmth rushed through him making every nerve shudder with the knowledge that _he was loved_. Perhaps this was how all Fathers felt, to hold their young and know that their strength was what stilled fears and chased darkness away, perhaps this was why Raoul had resisted the truth about Gustav. No, Erik knew it now, to relinquish such a feeling, to give it to another, what a cruel thing to ask of any creature, it was like ripping away part of you that screamed to protect and nurture the flesh of thy flesh. He breathed in this new-found instinct, this strange feeling that seemed so right, he basked in this fulfillment, so much that he could have laughed if not to disturb Gustav who had fallen asleep.

Erik smiled at the small being in his arms, wondering if he had any idea, any inkling of the revelation that had happened at this very moment. Erik wanted to hold him and never let him go, to cling to this warmth, this utterly ridiculous hunger to do nothing but be close to the boy, to watch him grow and mature, to live a life full of privilege and happiness. He knew now that he would need nothing else to be happy, just for Gustav to repeat those words and to know that they were true and free-flowing, that no one forced Gustav to say them, no one had frightened him into them.

The musician set Gustav back onto the bed and pulled the covers up to the child's chin, kissing his forehead again, he reached to turn out the light, then stopped. He lifted the picture up off the bed and propped it against the lamp on the small bedside table, leaving the light on.

"She will watch over you, my son." Erik whispered, taking one last look before closing the door and walking quietly to his own room, stopping at Tuck's first, peering into the room he could see Giry re-doing the bandages, the man needed a shave, and a haircut for that matter.

He was about to walk on when he thought about what he had just experienced, what of Tuck? Tuck may been an adult legally, but now his mind was that of a child, he clung to Gustav and, for some indiscernible reason, saw Raoul (who was a bit shorter than him) with such abject terror, even when Raoul spoke calmly and never raised a hand to him. Erik pushed the door open fully and walked in, he knew what it was to know nothing but fear for his fellow humans, to be mistrustful and suspicious of every favor, he knew what it was to feel as Tuck feels. And he remembered what Tuck had said, he had had a father, who loved him and then died, leaving Tuck alone with few options.

"How is he?" Erik asked softly, sliding the door shut behind him.

"Much better." Giry nodded, "I believe I can remove the stitches in a day or two, if he's willing to rest."

Erik nodded slowly, his hand reaching out to touch Tuck's cheek (for reasons unknown, Tuck wasn't a bit shy around Erik), "You need a shave, my young friend."

Tuck blinked slowly, then he ran his fingers over his own jaw, " . . . Mhm."

"I told him the same thing, I was planning on forcing you all into haircuts, Heaven forbid someone comes around and you all look like backwoods men." Giry smiled, patting Tuck's cheek, "Alright, in bed."

Tuck obediently slid his long legs under the covers of his bed and laid down, his eyelids already drooping. Giry was about to pull the sheets up, but Erik stopped her,

"I'll do it, Mother, you look rather tired yourself."

Giry blinked, but then nodded, "Alright, good night, Erik, Tuck."

Erik watched her leave and then pulled the sheets up to Tuck's chest, he sat down next to him, "Are you feeling alright, Tuck?"

Tuck nodded slowly, "'M'alright."

"If you should need anything, I'm right down the hall. Will you be fine by yourself?"

"Mhm." Tuck nodded again, "Gustav is sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Good . . . misses his mum." Tuck mumbled, his eyes closing.

Erik was startled by this statement, it would seem that Gustav was confiding in Tuck, he wondered what else Gustav had told him, but thought it best not to pry.

"I know, but he's sleeping now. Good night." Erik put his hand on Tuck's shoulder, his eyes examining the hollowed cheeks and dull eyes, wondering again how much Tuck really took in, how much he understood.

"G'night, Mr. Erik." Tuck mumbled, his eyes closed.

Erik nodded and stood up, closing the door behind him and walking to his room.

* * *

Erik had designed the master bedroom to be like a small apartment in itself, there was a bathroom, a small dining area and the bedroom portion. A few years prior, after Erik finally had enough money to liberate himself from the sideshows, he had invested in this house as a means of escape. True, he had enjoyed Coney and the freedom it granted him to become successful, but he had retreated here to hide away from his mask and relish a different kind of sanctuary. His staff had been instructed on when he was to take his meals, how to act around him, and when not to disturb him, and that was that.

But now the room didn't feel quite like it used to, now it seemed empty and hollow, Erik furrowed his brow in confusion, there was no call for this feeling, no cause for him to feel alone. The house was now full of people that he felt something for, people that he trusted on different levels, the staff were not gossipers or those that listen at doors, they did not fool him with fake smiles and syrupy tones. He felt that he now had a family that his beloved had thought he deserved (he still had yet to figure out what exactly he'd done to deserve anything he now had), there was no reason to feel lonely.

And yet . . .

Erik sighed, staring at the huge four-poster bed, moving to sprawl out on his back, staring at the ceiling, his head didn't hurt much anymore, but he still was exhausted by so many feelings all in one night. He needed a hot bath and sleep to mull things over in his brain. Erik pulled himself up and moved into the bathroom, turning the lamp on and reaching over to turn the faucet on.

He watched the water start to fill the bath while he undid the buttons on his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, only stopping to look up after he'd completely disrobed, somehow there was a floor-length mirror on the wall. There was no reason for a mirror to be there, he'd smashed enough in his life for people to realize he did not like looking at himself, but there it was, and there he was, standing in it's mirror image of the bathroom.

Erik moved closer, staring at himself, suddenly he didn't feel the urge to shatter it with the closest inanimate object, he just wanted to take a look. The most he'd used a mirror in the ten years at Coney had been to shave the left half of his face (oddly enough, the right side did not produce stubble, a small prayer answered, it would have been hell trying to shave around his disfigurement), so now he took a moment to look himself over, to just stare at his body.

Erik was not a vain man, as if that wasn't obvious, he'd never paid any attention to anything below the neck, but now . . . he wanted to feel pride in himself, to know that Christine had felt him, had been underneath him, with her eyes roving over his body as if he was a prized stallion, something desirable and handsome, clearly she had thought so . . .

He ran his fingers over his body, feeling muscle from years of scrambling around the Opera house's scaffolding and climbing up and down the many passages and tunnels, he had proven strength and speed countless times and had mastered his body like a puppeteer, yes, he was in control of his own physique, molding it and forcing it to do things that made people wonder if he really was a ghost. Erik roamed until he stopped just short of his waist, ah, there was the most perplexing member of his body. A territory he had not dared to venture his whole life, even in adolescence he had given it a wide berth and not because he wasn't curious, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it . . .

Erik turned the water off and slid into the hot water, glancing at the counter where his wig and mask were, thinking very far back to when he had started to wonder about his body, about what it was meant for . . .

_Fifteen year-old_ _Erik watched him work, the small kiln heating the interior of the shadowy room, every so often the figure would turn his head, cough into a handkerchief, examine it, then go back to work._

_ "Something on your mind, Erik?" _

_ Erik started, he had not expected him to speak, he didn't normally talk when he worked, but then, he could always tell when Erik was thinking._

_ "what is it about?" Erik asked softly, choosing his words carefully, "I mean, what is it they all laugh and talk about?"_

_ The man slowly turned around, putting aside the prop he was making. He was tall and broad, the only human that Erik thought for sure was some sort of mythical being, an artist in his own right with the skill to create delicate things like masks with porcelain, adding the perfect amount of glaze and heat to make beautiful creations._

_ "Have you been listening behind walls?" He coughed into the handkerchief again, this time spots of red spread across ti, he sighed and sat down._

_ "Well, sometimes . . . " Erik fidgeted,trying not to look at the blood._

_ "I told you not to- nevermind, now," He rested his elbows on his knees, looking up at Erik with keen eyes, "What is what about?"_

_ "I hear Buquet talking with the other men, about the chorus girls . . . he says things that don't make sense to me. What is he saying when he talks about going to bed with them?" Erik looked at him, straining to see his face in the shadows._

_ "Well . . . " The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while he launched into an explanation that made Erik's ears redden, "And that's what he means."_

_ "Oh." Erik fidgeted, not sure if he had wanted to know about that or not, "Tom?"_

_ Tom Emerson, the former prop-master was a forty-something with gray hair and goatee framing his craggy face. Tom had retired down to the quiet workshop he inhabited, also the caretaker of Erik since he came to live down in the vaults, he looked at the boy, "Yes?"_

_ "Have you ever . . . ?" Erik gestured nervously._

_ "Yes, I was married when I was younger, but she died in childbirth. Her and the baby." Tom reached out his hand and patted Erik's shoulder, the heavy hand felt like it could crush every bone in Erik's body, "Now I have my work and a nosy teenager to keep me busy."_

_ Erik smiled, "Can I help?"_

_ "Of course."_

Erik sighed, letting the memory drift out of his thoughts, Tom had died not five months later, coughing so hard blood would spill down his chin, frightening Erik to tears and panic, he was kind and an artist and he died like a common laborer, it wasn't fair how he had to suffer so, but then-

_ "No." _Erik muttered, pulling himself out of the bath, "There is no need to dredge up old hurt. He is gone and I can't dwell on this."

Erik paused, ha, how easily he told himself to forget people when he clung to his memories of Christine like a dying man.

He quickly dried himself and pulled on his pajama bottoms, turning back to the mirror, well, he did need a haircut. His straggly blondish hair was beginning to get long, and there was some gray at the temples, but it wasn't unbecoming, really (if you discounted the obvious). Erik took a deep breath, no he did not look bad for a forty year old man (but, that was again, ignoring the in-ignorable).

Yes, his birthday had come and gone without noise or fuss, mainly because he had not told anyone the date he had chosen to be his, the day Tom had given him, funny, it was the same day, although not several years later that Tom di-

"Agh, no!" Erik growled, pressing his hands to his eyes, "Erik, stop it, right now!"

It was at that point that he realized he was scolding himself and felt very silly for a moment, Erik sighed and moved to the bedroom again, holding in a shudder, why did it feel so cold here?

Then he looked down at the bed, it was too big for one person . . . too big and too empty and too lonely. He felt an ache in his chest as his hand ran over the sheets, that was why he felt cold, he wished for warmth, for a body to hold against his own, but, she was gone, so out went that option. Erik laid back, resting his hands on his chest, he had no delusions of ever finding someone that he could love and who would love him like Christine, of course Meg had tried, but they both knew now that neither really felt that way, so . . . was he never to find love again? Was he only designed to enjoy the most intimate of relations with one woman just once? It didn't seem fair, but it was life and he supposed he might as well get used to it.

Erik closed his eyes and tried to close out all the feelings that vied for his attention.

* * *

Raoul stared at the ceiling, not feeling much like sleeping, but he was exhausted. He had laid here in bed for nearly two hours and had yet to even doze off. Frustration drove him to get up and fling a robe around his shoulders. If he was up he might as well do something.

Raoul found his way into the conservatory without really knowing why. He sat down on the sofa, running a hand through his hair and thinking, this seemed to become a habit of his, thinking of ridiculous things. He thought about Tuck and how he wouldn't let Raoul near him, even if it was to help. He thought about Meg and Madame Giry and how he felt about them, they seemed repentant enough, but he still had a hard time with them being here. He thought about Gustav and how grown up he was getting, how he would talk like an adult and how he adjusted quite well to their situation. He thought about a lot of things until he felt his eyelids dropping and before he could let any more thoughts drift through his head, he was asleep.

* * *

"You're certain?" Giry hissed, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

Meg nodded, tears long since used up, "Yes, I'm more than certain."

"Are you going to tell Erik, then?"

"I plan to, although I am a bit afraid of how he'll react."

"Well, my dear, this isn't something that can be kept a secret for long."

"I know," Meg sighed, "But, will he argue with my decision?"

"I do not pretend to know what Erik is thinking, but, this is his house and he will have the final word on this delicate matter." Giry crossed her arms sternly, "He will, however, need to be told, and in half the time."

"I know . . . " Meg closed her eyes, "I will tell him tomorrow."

**A/N: I have to say that despite everything, while writing this fic, I've grown rather fond of Raoul. I felt that LND, while a magnificently gorgeous tribute to us Phans and the greatest gothic love story ever written, it failed to truly capture the depressed, desperate state that Raoul was in, I know that I was practically in tears when he sang 'Why Does She Love Me?' because at that point, Raoul had his doubts about his own behavior and choices he made. I wanted to push him inward more and that's why all the deep thinking on his part, his inner turmoil and the Giry's place in Erik's life are two things I felt very strongly about and if you actually read this whole little rant let me know and I'll not do this ranting thingy again . . . =_="**


	5. A Few Things Go Awry

**A/N: Oh My Lanta, firstly I'd like to personally thank Cherrycoffycake for your stirring review, and to my graciously patient JB, Morzan's Elvish Daughter, emeraldphan, Igenlode Wordsmith, sciencefictionfan2061, and Magdelena Rossino for all your reviews and help and for the people who fave and follow this story! Yeah, I gushed about this last chapter and I feel kinda silly now, but I just want everyone to know that I cherish everything ya send my way!  
**

Erik looked out the window, the rain didn't seem to want to let up, it was as if the whole sky was determined that no one should leave the house. Gustav was getting downright antsy about staying inside, there was only so much he could do really, but it was good for Tuck to be in bed for more than a few minutes. What puzzled Erik the most was that ever since they'd moved into the house, Meg would look as if she wanted to say something then think better of it and avert her eyes. Erik had tried to get her to voice what was on her mind, or to get Giry to tell him, but both seemed on edge about whatever it was, so Erik finally gave up, hoping someone would hurry up and tell him before-

CRASH!

Erik yelped, whirling around as something shattered behind him, he breathed heavily and glared at the young maid,

"I'm sorry Mr. Black!" Lucy, the girl, said in a panic, gathering up the shards.

"Here," Erik sighed, "Let me help you."

She flinched away, surprising Erik, "Ah, no, sir, thank you! I've got it!"

Erik watched while she scooped the larger pieces into her apron and ran out the door. Erik slumped into the chair, staring around the library, he had forgotten how it felt to have someone shrink away from him, strange as that seemed, he had not seen that reaction in a long time, the fear and loathing that once had been his strength now drained him of all energy.

He sighed, closing his eyes as the rain continued to pour down on the window's glass. Erik looked around, then picked up a book he had been reading, it had been some time since he'd found pleasure in reading, but now, perhaps due to sheer boredom and a temporary lack of inspiration, he was turning to fiction to fill his mind and time.

The door opened again and Lucy rushed in, a broom and dustpan in hand, she quickly swept the carpet and then hurried back out. Erik had watched her, what was she so afraid of? He'd never even spoken to her and yet she was terrified of being in the same room! At least, he could understand the mask frightening her, but he hadn't given her any other reason to be shy of him like that.

Women would forever be a mystery to him, Erik realized. Not that men made any more sense to him, but he felt that because he was one, he had more perception on the subject. He shook his head and went back to his book.

* * *

Gustav looked out the window, "I do wish it would stop raining."

Tuck was lying on his good side, watching Gustav write music on the floor, he nodded mutely, stretching, then wincing as his side tweaked painfully.

"Are you alright?" Gustav asked, kneeling next to the bed in an instant.

"M'alright." Tuck assured, labored to sit up and looked at the younger boy.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" Gustav stood up quickly, "I'll get something brought up, don't worry."

Tuck watched Gustav take off, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. He ran a careful hand over his side, gasping as it twinged, he bit his lip at the lingering throb.

"ouch . . . " Tuck sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to think back . . .

_"Tuck!"_

_ His head snapped up, "Yes?"_

_ His father, a tall willowy man ducked into the tent, his eyes smiling like always, "What're you doing in here? We've got work to do!"_

_ Tuck smiled and-_

"Cook will bring something up in twenty minutes." Gustav plunked down on the bed.

Tuck blinked out of his daydream, staring at Gustav for a second, trying to recall what he'd been thinking about, but it was useless.

" . . . stupid." He muttered, rubbing his head irritably.

Gustav blinked in surprise, "You aren't stupid."

Tuck laughed, looking at Gustav, " . . . am so." He laughed again, "R'ally stupid!"

Gustav reached out a hand and touched Tuck's shoulder, "You are _not _stupid, do you understand?"

Tuck stared at him, lowering his gaze from the intense blue eyes, "Yes."

"You're my friend, Tuck, and I'm going to take care of you, like I promised." Gustav said firmly, setting his jaw.

" . . . my friend too." Tuck murmured, hazarding a glance up at Gustav.

Gustav smiled and leaned in to carefully hug Tuck, "Good, now you should be resting."

Tuck nodded and laid back down, sighing as his stomach growled loudly.

"Don't worry, the food will come soon." Gustav pulled the covers up to Tuck's chest and went back to his writing, Tuck gazed at the boy on the floor, smiling without knowing why.

* * *

Raoul watched Bryan and Carter Lewis as they worked with the horses, Bryan was a short, stout man in his mid-forties with short graying black hair and Carter was his cousin, not as short, but just as stout, he was about thirty-five with the same dark hair.

"Can I get you a horse, sir?" Carter asked, tugging his apron in place, wiping at his sweaty forehead.

"Hm? Oh, uh, thank you Mr. Lewis." Raoul smiled, "I was merely stopping to observe your work, you're quite handy at the forge."

"Ah, thank ya," Carter smiled, reaching over to pull a long pair of tongs out of the forge, a red-hot horseshoe clamped in it, "Lotta work, but Mr. Black pays us pretty well, eh, cousin?"

Raoul looked up to see Bryan up in the hayloft, chucking a few flakes of fodder to the manger below, "Aye, he does."

"Funny fellow, Mr. Black is, loves his horses though. I know for a fact he paid well over a thousand dollars for that one there," Carter gestured with his hammer to a large black horse with a brown colored mane, "That there is Harmony, she's his pride and joy, she is."

"Harmony?" Raoul walked over to the big mare, holding out his palm to her nose, "She is beautiful."

"That she is." Bryan nodded, hopping down the last rung on the ladder, "Bloody beast was worth every penny, she's amazing with the right person."

Raoul pulled his hand back as Harmony nipped at him, ears flattened back to her neck, "I see."

"Be careful, almost lost a finger to her myself." Carter chuckled, dousing the horseshoe in the cooling vat.

"I'd offer you one of the others, Baron or Hannibal." Bryan gestured to a pair of geldings across the stable, one was a chestnut with a reddish-brown mane, the other a dappled gray.

"The gray one looks mild enough. I'll let Erik handle the mare." Raoul nodded to the gelding.

"Hannibal, excellent choice, he's got a good, level head on his withers." Bryan nodded, "And he knows the trails, so you aren't likely to get lost."

"Wouldn't want that, would we?" Raoul nodded, watching the man tacking up the dapple, then mounting and adjusting the reins in one hand, "If I'm not back in an hour, its safe to assume I need assistance."

Carter laughed, "We keep a sharp eye, Mr. de Chagny."

The ride was good, Hannibal proved to be a horse with a quiet disposition, plodding along the trails, and the cool spring air did a much needed clearing of Raoul's head.

"Good Lord, Hannibal, I've been thinking so much, its any wonder I haven't lost my mind." Raoul muttered, patting the gelding's neck. He sighed and clicked his tongue, putting the horse into a trot, "Suppose we'd best get home, I don't like the looks of those clouds."

Raoul made it back just before a gentle spring rain started, he led the horse into the stables and noticed Bryan and Carter staring up into the rafters,

"What's wrong?" Raoul asked, hitching Hannibal to one of the posts.

"That is. Can't figure how the hell he got up there." Bryan pointed up at a space.

Raoul looked and there was Tuck, he was running along the rafter and support beams, hopping from beam to beam, grabbing onto the loading-rope and twisting and turning on it.

"Don't care how you get him down, just do it." Bryan turned to Carter crossing his arms.

"Me? What the devil do you expect me to do? Shimmy up there and chase him around?" Carter pointed at himself then gestured up to where Tuck was now holding onto the rope, hanging upside down by his fist and one foot.

"Figure it out, he's making the horses nervous." Bryan snapped, then he went back to work repairing a saddle's stirrup.

Raoul looked around, and sure enough, Harmony was pawing the ground in irritation and Baron kept turning in his stall, even Hannibal seemed ill-at-ease, tossing his head a little. Carter shook his head, moving to un-tack the dapple,

"Who is that boy, anyway?"

Raoul sighed, "He's Tuck, a former acrobat, he isn't dangerous, just a little simple."

"Well, Bryan wants him down, so I'd better think of something." Carter sighed, lifting Raoul's saddle onto it's rack.

"I'll do it." Raoul glanced out the door, seeing that it was torrential downpour, there would be no getting Erik, the man had a cat's aversion to being wet, so it would have to be him.

He walked to stand under Tuck, "You really shouldn't be doing that, you're still recovering."

Tuck was hanging upside down, staring at Raoul, he reached up slowly, gripping the rope in one hand and releasing his foot, he slowly slid down to the floor. Raoul stared at him, then he glanced back to the door,

"I don't think Madame Giry would like it if you caught a cold right after you just got better." Raoul slid his coat off and handed it to Tuck.

Tuck looked down at the coat, then at Raoul, his hand slowly extending and taking the garment. Raoul helped him into it, not letting Tuck pull away (he was very much getting tired of that, there was no call for it).

"There. Come on." Raoul made for the door, but a hand on his arm stopped him, "What?"

"Wha' 'bout you?" Tuck asked softly, eyes downcast.

"I'm fine." Raoul assured, "Come along."

Tuck followed slowly next to Raoul, they stood in the doorway and then dashed out into the rain, running for the house. Raoul threw the door open and they collapsed in the foyer, Raoul started to chuckle,

"You can certainly move quickly, Tuck." Raoul smiled at the young man, Tuck actually smiled a little, but he looked drained, "But, what were you doing in there?"

"Exercise." Tuck said softly, handing the coat back.

"Exercise? Heh, I imagine that is what you're used to. Did you perform like that?"

"Yeh, Father an' me did ropes an' rings." Tuck nodded, bending with his hands on his knees, thick blonde hair dripping onto the carpet.

"Really? So, your father was an acrobat as well?" Raoul hung the coat and his hat on the rack.

"Mhm." Tuck straightened, hand resting on his side, "Very good too."

"Where is he now?" Raoul asked, clearly Tuck had been close to his father, so why . . . ?

"Dead." Tuck said simply, shrugging slightly and he turned and staggered to the parlor.

Raoul blinked slowly, so, that was what happened. It certainly made Raoul feel better about Tuck's parents if they'd died rather than if they had sold their own child. He went up to the library, he had a book he'd been reading and accidentally left on the sofa.

* * *

Erik sat in his study, reading a few letters, he had looked up when the storm started, it was wonderful inspiration for a composition, which he was finding hard not to write at the moment, these letters needed to be addressed first, inspiration or no inspiration. He finally finished the letters and was just sitting down at his piano with a fresh sheaf of music sheets and a pen, when the door opened.

He looked over, "Yes?"

Meg bit her lip and peeked around the door, "Um, are you very busy Erik?"

Erik sighed, looking at the paper then at her, well, it could wait a few more seconds, "No, come in, Meg."

She slowly slid into the room, closing the door and moving to one of the comfortable armchairs, "I need to speak with you."

Erik turned on the bench, "About?"

"Well, there's something I've been . . . hiding from you and the others. Something I wasn't sure about until very recently." Meg lowered her gaze, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Yes?" Erik tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed.

"Well . . . " Meg took a deep breath, closing her eyes, "I'm pregnant."

Erik jerked back in shock, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped, "What?"

"I'm pregnant." Meg repeated, ready to run if the need arose.

"You're . . . sure?" Erik blinked, what did this mean? Was she serious?

"Yes."

"Do you, ah, know who the father is?" Erik stood up, standing by the window, fingering his chin uneasily.

" . . . No." Meg whispered, wringing her hands, tears welling up in her eyes, "I don't."

Erik slowly turned to look at her, "Oh, Meg . . . "

He slowly walked over, moving to kneel at her feet, he took her hands in his. Meg took a shaky breath, biting her lip, then the tears came. Erik blinked, unsure what he was supposed to do, then he sighed, taking her in his arms,

"It'll be alright, Meg, we'll get through this, all of us together." He murmured, smoothing her blond hair gently, holding the sobbing woman, "Don't . . . don't cry, please."

She pressed her face into his chest, gripping his shirt tightly in her fists, "I'm sorry . . . "

"Meg," Erik held her out at arm's length, tilting his head down to look in her eyes, "Do not apologize, if anything, _I'm _sorry. This would never have happened if I hadn't been so thick-headed. Alright?"

Meg nodded slowly, hanging her head, "What are we to do?"

"We carry on. There's nothing we can-"

"Actually," Meg interrupted, "There is something I could do."

Erik blinked, "What do you mean?"

"I could get rid of the baby. It wouldn't be difficult, Mother knows how to-"

"No." Erik shook his head, "No, we can't do that, it isn't right. Meg, if anything, that child, _your_ child deserves to grow up, to live. And, what better family for it then us? Meg, please, don't do that."

"Erik, it wasn't a man I loved, or even knew, I don't want a reminder of my 'occupation'." Meg shook her head, still not looking at Erik.

"But . . . it's still a life, a baby." Erik let his hands fall to his lap, slumping his shoulders with the realization of her situation hit him, "Meg, you aren't a murderer, not in any aspect of the word. You're a wonderful, loving woman, please, don't do that."

Meg's head snapped up, staring at him in surprise, then she sighed, "You're . . . You're right Erik, I-I admit, I am afraid of this possibility. I don't wish the child to know where it came from, nor am I eager to raise a stranger's child. But, I suppose with all the support I have been blessed with, perhaps I won't be alone."

They stared at each other, Erik leaned forward, kissing her forehead, breathing in the perfume of her hair, "It will be alright, Meg, we will make it through this."

* * *

Raoul stared at them, "She is?"

Erik nodded slowly, he and Meg were standing in the library, Madame Giry was sitting on the sofa opposite, "Yes."

"Good Lord." Raoul set his book aside, standing to pace to the window, the storm was getting worse, "When it rains, it pours."

"We thought you should know." Erik said calmly.

Raoul nodded, turning to look at the woman, "What do you intend to do?"

"I intend to bear the child and see this through to the end." Meg said softly, keeping her chin up and putting on a brave face, even though Erik could feel her small hand trembling on his arm.

"Hm." Raoul turned back to the window, "I see, and, the father?"

Oh, Raoul knew she didn't know, but he couldn't help the little jab at her integrity, he had not yet forgiven Meg for what had happened. And, even though Raoul knew his constant snide remarks at both Erik and Meg were childish and that Erik only refrained from attacking Raoul because he'd agreed not to. But . . . he just was so angry that Meg, of all people, should be blessed with a child when she'd done _nothing _to deserve it. When he knew that he was . . . incompetent.

"No." Meg said, her voice sharp and hard as a knife.

"Raoul, could I speak to you? In private?" Erik said acidly, and Raoul knew that Erik somehow read his thoughts and he was in for a scolding. My, my, how he had reverted to his childhood.

They stood out in the hall, Erik had his hands on his hips and he took a deep, condescending breath, then he looked at Raoul.

"Well, are you-"

SMACK!

Raoul's head snapped to the side as Erik back-handed him. There was silence as Raoul straightened, breathing heavily as he ran his hand over the cheek which was slowly reddening.

"You will keep a civil tongue around Meg." Erik took a dangerous step closer, "I will not have you bullying her. I understand more than you know your loathing to be around her, but they are my family and I won't have this behavior in my house."

Raoul swallowed, "You're the only person besides my father to ever strike me."

"I imagine it was when you were being as childish and petty as you are now." Erik growled, "Will you behave, or do I have to treat you like a child?"

"What? Put me over your knee?" Raoul snapped, then he sighed, " . . . Alright, I'll be . . . _nice._"

"See that you are." Erik snapped, "And you can apologize for being an ass."

Raoul nodded, defeated, "Right."

Erik nodded and turned back to the parlor, glaring at Raoul before opening the door and going back inside. Raoul took a huge breath, running a hand over the red mark on his cheek, before turning on his heel and going to the library, he'd apologize later, when he wasn't in such a foul mood.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Raoul breathed out, Meg looked at him uncertainly, staring at the bruise on his cheek,

"What?"

"I said, 'I'm sorry', for being an ass earlier." Raoul looked off to the side.

"Oh, alright, thank you." Meg blinked at him for a moment, as if she thought he would say something else, then the Vicomte turned on his heel and walked back to the parlor.

No one was in there, at least, he didn't think anyone was until a book closed and he noticed with a start that Erik was sitting next to the window,

"Very nice of you to speak to her." The masked man said calmly, watching Raoul for a second, setting his book down on the arm of the chair he occupied.

Raoul said nothing, just glared at Erik.

"Do you have something you wish to say?" Erik narrowed his eyes and waited, "I've never known you to _not _speak your mind."

"You treat it like it was a damn good thing, her being pregnant." Raoul muttered through clenched teeth.

"What bothers you more, Raoul, the fact that _Meg _is pregnant or that you've been with a woman ten years and did not produce any heirs?" Erik snapped, standing up in one fluid motion.

Raoul flinched as if Erik had slapped him again, he'd hit the nail right on the head and Raoul had to look away to hide the bitter scowl on his face.

"I see." Erik nodded calmly, anger melting away as he stared at the younger man, "So, its jealousy, then, is it?"

"What would you know?" Raoul muttered, "You sired a son in one night, I, on the other hand seem to be . . . "

He couldn't say it, not give voice to the hurt and true jealousy that _did _indeed rage in his heart. To say it would be to make it true, to make it hurt worse than the living reminder that he was unable to have children.

"Sterile?" Erik finished for him, an air of deep sympathy filled the room.

"Yes, that." Raoul swallowed thickly, rubbing at his eyebrows tiredly, he held in his pain, his hurt, he'd revealed emotion before and look where it got him. No, he would not loose control right now, and especially not in front of Erik.

That is until he felt a hand on his shoulder, gentle and grounding, Raoul looked up in alarm to see Erik staring at him with a look of such compassion, such pity that Raoul could no longer control himself. His body shook as tears rolled down his face and he collapsed into Erik, feeling the man stiffen in equal alarm before enclosing him gently.

"There is no shame in grief." Erik said softly, speaking the same phrase that he had said to his son, feeling the younger man heave with sobs at the unfairness of it all. Erik was even surprised at himself for letting this man, a man he had openly hated and attempted to kill on more than one occasion, find comfort in his arms. To allow such close contact with him seemed strange, but, Erik felt that right now, Raoul needed to find comfort in someone and Erik was the only person that Raoul had ever confided in to some extent.

Finally, Raoul broke away, stunned by how he was behaving, thankfully Erik said nothing, made no mention of what had just transpired. They stood in silence for a bit before Raoul took a step back and left the room, retreating to his own in a haste that might have been unnecessary. He closed the door behind him and slid to the floor, covering his face with his hands,

"What the hell is going on?" He mumbled, he had actually _hugged _Erik, the man that he had hated, even if he respected him now, it did not excuse the past, but this? Raoul shook his head and closed his eyes, lost in thought.

**A/N: Well, it was really really obvious that Raoul couldn't have kids, I mean, c'mon, right? So had to put that in the mix and then there's Meg's pregnancy. Way back when this all takes place there were abortions, and let me tell you, from being a history nerd, it was gruesome and usually performed in a back alley sawbones and was more likely fatal for the mother and baby then just the baby from either infection, blood loss, or any number of things. RnR!**


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